by Abner Dormiendo
From the clearing: the dark blue hue
of the sky; the lake, its reproduction—
seamless transition, and the hundreds
of upturned trees puncturing
horizon, like so many pins stitching
fabric of water and sky. I watch
with the attention of a tailor
stringing a thread to the needle’s eye—
cricket song, bird shadows caught
in the tapestry of silence, cradling
the mountain to sleep, tucking its chest
beneath the blanket of stars, now
the steady humming of the breeze.
And the wind, breaker of trees, disturbs
my gratitude with discontent,
passes my heart’s secret to the birds, whispers
the song to the trees, sings it to the mountain
snoring. At once, the world awakening.
Day 13: Use a kenning often seen in Nordic sagas. Go ahead, find what I used. It’s kind of overt.