Haley Wooning
hillock, hill-wept billow
sorrows bellow below
the godshorn lands of
violets, as black-mawed
and crushable
as lament
I winter there,
nicked by the inconsolable
star: heroism
mangled in the doorway
of hands paled beyond
their own misunderstanding
sap, the self’s stark
dolorous tree, pulled
down
by the immaculate wings
of strangers. I madden
their obscurity, questless
knowing no belonging, though
I want for something, forgiveness
perhaps
contrived below the spectacle
of a moon-snout dusk
do I hear their collapse
or is it the weeping of animals?
the common rite the dreams distend
in waking
defy nothing
the bow is weighed, judgement
is a feather and water leaves
behind
no memory
***
Haley Wooning lives in California where she writes poetry. She has one book, Mothmouth, published by Spuyten Duyvil.