life....

life....
You put this pen
in my hand and you
take the pen from
my hand. the night
before the full moon

the moon seems
full. what is missing
is a dark hungry
sickle, the sliver
of shadow eating

us up inside. after
the mountains breathe
their mint-and-sorrow
green against the long
summer sky, they burst

into hot october
laughter, lighting
the horizon with citrus,
rust, and blood. you
put this knife in my

hand.