Owl Time in Albion
. . . smoking a Camel in the yard after
the bars close, watching the ember,
listening to owls.
There is a cabalistical joke in there
somewhere; occultisms are like that.
Aldebaran has been up an hour.
Sirius is in the West.
Lawn’s growing fast now;
the picket fence doesn’t seem so hard.
When people dream there isn’t territory.
At first it’s only one,
as quiet thickens
different trees answer.
Horned one in the poplar, Taurus behind,
Screech from the willows, Saw Whet from pines.
If you listen long enough
birds map out the trees.
There’s a chart above the fence-line.
first published in Fugue, Spring, 1992.