it keeps on creeping,
though we leap from seeping,
wide-eyed wondering at the animal of man.
the sea is tremulous in the damp-dark,
unseasonably the wind scrapes,loaves across our cheekbones.
the bones' holler clattering, as ashes and dust take residence
where once there was wish.
so cries the furtive moon as
the SON chases her from sky,
thread like a rosary between flitting fingers,
startled out of reverie, into reverence.
© 2008 : Jenny Ryan