Toward an Uneasy Settling

His mind is a depression,
curved, a hemispherical nest

hollowed into straw cradling
two eggs, the one blue-white

like the rising moon, the other brown
and speckled, neither warm.

The night moves over him
in waves, the borning stars,

the pockets of cool air, frogs
and horses’ hooves, memories

bobbing to sea like paper lanterns
flaring and then only two.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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