Another Moon Poem Defending its Territory
The moon,
in glowing silence,
controls the port,
submerging
the jagged reef
at high tide,
but showing its teeth
during the reciprocal age.
-Robert L. Jackson III
Sticks
The boundary is flat
on the river.
Roots erode;
and trees cross the realm,
extending
the bare knuckles
of their bony fingers
to the travelers
above.
The swirling knots
of the waterlogged wood
stare across
and speak
to the ringed cores
of the survivors.
The fibrous matter
separates
from the soul
in the dark depths.
We wallow in the mud,
with unburied bones,
exposed,
and leaving no need
for chiseled tombstones.
-Robert L. Jackson III
Posted for Poets United midweek motif of Soul/Psyche.