every nightmorning the apple branch (for a moment) holds the moon.
today at 6:04am she grasps the mighty light:
a waning saucer, cup-up.
the birds in the shape of bone
in my back don't click with rib discs just so.
how to make a nest that fits?
disk of moon, ribs, discus of delight
align me wholly, inner sight.
gyre and reach, palm of bone
click with wings and come on home.
align me whole like lego spine
unbend the ribs as fork and tine.
forge me a nest of wings for flight
so i reach up and hold moonlight.
become the apple tree
pink with sunrise.
reach to cup the
moon as she flies.