AMANUENSES

In the rain and wind,
hulking cedar trees,
hooded scribes
cloaked in dark robes,
whisper amongst
themselves -
secrets recorded
in rings.

THE OUTHOUSE

Alone
in the outhouse
with the door ajar,
on a warm autumn night,
cocooned in the soft light
of a kerosene lamp.

Alone
in this outpost
at this edge of the Milky Way -
with a needy spider
waiting in the corner,
and a frenzied moth
drawn by the light.

Alone
looking out through
black trees framing
a charcoal sky
to dusky purple mountains
cresting like dark waves
at the far edge of a flat gray sea.

Alone
with the mystery
and the magic
of diaphanous clouds
slowly parting to reveal
an orange moon.

Alone.
Safe for the moment,
from the shadows,
in the near dark,
lurking like hungry wolves

at the edge of a fire.

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