An owl translated Moon, these chords of tender ligatures stretched with lampposts strumming her throat like bows on woodwind, skin on skin, percussive. We dreamt in nights milk thirsting for a babe that slept in the sun’s fleece. These days and nights are slowly wound by cogs of gold and silver, yet when you weep upon me our bones become hands shaped as midnight . The owl chimed for us, its pendulum echoes enslaved and then freed us. We will grow young together and when our arms are roots our mouths will breathe blossom. You are the Owl in my wasteland unfurling a song that soars and snags on the down of my landscape. Let dusk hatch us silver my love nest upon these rusted lips, open this black hole to your universe