Ghost Forest

 

I believe there is a forest
that haunts the decimation of forests,
that lives in the dry spells
between glaciers, the ages of ice
in which furred gods live.
I believe there is a love
that haunts the absence of love,
that colors the darkness with a deep magenta,
that fills the heart with something other
the way twilight fills the shadows
with something not quite light.
If you could hold your fingers
and trace those shapes in the quiet air
you might find a door to different meanings,
to stories twisted and new.
You might find powers beyond yourself
hidden in each secret corner,
each blooming fragment of the night.

​

Reynard

 

The lord of foxes has been living
in the basement of my childhood home
since before my birth. I remember his red face
peering from beyond the furnace
and the bits of river fowl
left gnarled among the onions.
I believe his tricks have led my life
down every darkened road,
turning my days to other purposes
than my own. Benevolent or not,
the brush of his whiskers haunts my life
and I can taste his rancid breath
on every wind. If I ever find my way back
to the fable before time
I’ll pay for his twisted blessings
with a shotgun and a kiss.