Kim Suttell

Stone and sentry, the moon is shimmer smudge,
regresses and glows in gloom-gauzed night,

summons a slip of wind as pale as worms
curling beneath an earthen pot. The seep

and sadness of a stunt of moss drains
out damp whispers on a northern wall.

Burrowing into deep wool breath, be still,
still as a street exhaled a car growled past.

Fog horn settling mist in darkness falls
so dim the ocean is not seen. Hear it come

and go, come and go. Slow soft dark
and only dark and only still and come and go.