Sliding down of towers, moon in tree. Men
in the early skin of my backache.
Moon in the water and landed grass
beholding. Down-sliding me
through each evening. Our boxes and down-sliding
towers, tree slickening
to cold. Oh moon, who cares
for your slick-sly down. The sky
when you slide drops down. Evening
skeins off in down-meaning
with its mark. And stable,
surrounding. Grass upon which
a moon can cast light.
Circle of hold-me-down
in the slide-downing sparrow. Little blow-bird with light
on its circle. A grass grows
the water darker. In flood the red knot
slips down. Silt on the moon making blood
and down-sliding towers, the men that
surround me. Arrow of men and bird never
reaching. Down the grass which
slickens the even-so. Evening, that stiff
skin, slacks off its crust.
Heart's open bag, slag on the water.
swell of water going
to grass and landed
towers blue. Men
surrounded me next year,
Anne Marie Rooney
Spring / Summer 2012