Hear here! 

The night was dark like wildfire, and somewhere
the soft sounds of wolf howls found the place
the sun sleeps on a bed of flowers and hallowed ground.
There were owls in the evergreen, and the slithering
noise of the river set the scene for memories and
distant dreams: where we sometimes live with the
memories and the impressions we’ve neglected. Where
does the time go but coursing through the water and
swimming through our veins? Forcing its way to the altar
and over unexplained terrain—we encounter seconds
as we meet with wildflowers and count them by the
petals fallen, the minutes calling, and the pollen bawling.
There, the hours were tallied by breaths taken and
swallows sweeping, violets wilting, and light descending.
But melancholy finds us here too; while the wolf howls
and the owl sounds and the crickets croak with the
beat of the moon’s rays, we realize we’re still human
and if we answered the call of the wild, it’s filtered through
Aden or Clarendon. The native wisteria and raise of
the moon wouldn’t understand our language anymore.

So sigh for the nights you’ve stayed inside and cry for
the evenings the coyote squalled and you
didn’t hear. Hear here! And breathe in the catcalls and the
seething streams until there is only outlying fetter gleams:
where noises outside mean silicone screams and social
scenes. Grass planted contends with foot soldiers and
dog legs until it’s all but forgotten for dirt and asphalt currency;
so sigh for the times you’ve missed in the miles of mountains
above our necks. In under our heads, there are places
we still remember how to raise the moon.

Stay gold,
Sabrina