Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts
Fiction   /   Nonfiction   /   Poetry

Mid-Autumn’s Eve

by Howie Faerstein


It happens in the dark,

reeling under the rotted eaves,

staring into blankness.

It happens carrying coffee grounds to the compost.

What an odd hour to be pressed by love.


It happens when the wind picks up

and unseen trees rustle

as contradiction takes the place

of stars in an insomniac sky.

Love, a thorn of light in otherwise blackest night.


Because of the gradualness that speaks of time,

as a thrush returns from death

after colliding with a window,

dawn washes out darkness with milk

like the faint blue cloud rising from your side of the bed.


For just one moment,

there, in a kind of clearing,

a season of inconsequence,

while sea smoke lifts from distant oceans

I stand in continuance,


a wolf tree,

feeding on the provender.