I thought I saw a star fall
In Sherwood Forest.
I wonder what it means
About our world.
I swear I saw a flame walk
Through this grove of trees,
Stepping from curl to curl
Of the bark on the forest floor.
I cannot grasp what my mind
Is saying; not yet,
Speaking from the corners of my eyes,
Running past my nose
At odd times, odd scents, odd sounds.
Sometimes I feel that
I’m surreptitiously burying
My heart again
In the middle of the night,
Something someone is whispering
For me to do.
Lying awake as I imagine the fall
Of gravedigger dirt
Cascading in sodden clumps
Upon my wooden soul.
The light wanes as I write,
Listening to the stereo of birdcalls
Scratching at wood,
And the organs of crickets
Calling and calling
The stars to the night’s work,
All except one.
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