Under the Moon's Nightly ...
Under the moon's nightly increasing sliver
I paced through summer. On our hilltop
after the weeds are pulled, the garden hoed,
the family outing to Mosquito River,
sweet evening comes to chill me, and I shiver
and think about the cautious mouse and toad
bold in our weedy meadow, still unmowed,
soon to be house cat—stomach, brain, and liver.
Our cat's pregnant. She needs those little
Deep in the grasses each doomed cricket sings
under the swelling moon, shining so sweetly
that all my constellations—heroes, kings,
Berenice's hairdo and Aquila's wings
and the Great Swan—are glittered out completely.
Word from the Hills, A Sonnet Sequence in Four
Movements, University of Georgia Press, ©
Reprinted by permission of the author.