They come without warning,

these dysfunctions of moonlight,

shimmering through trees,

those great monoliths, with mother’s breath


casting secret codes on dark ground,

playing music few read,

singing songs fewer perform,

a silence fastening itself

to an open spot

in the ocean,

meaningful as any other soundlessness.


There is always resistance,

like a bud pushing through,

but when the sun rises and sets

what can be expected

are these furious forms

that can only be discerned

by their edges.


It is only on the edges of circumstance, wound, trauma or delight that we awaken. Unless we can stay inside the silence of it, we simply fall asleep again until the next edge strikes us.

© Andrea Mathews, 2104

Full moon over Catalina AZ

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