The Breath Of Night

The moon rises.

The red cubs

In the ferns by the rotten

Stare over a marsh and a

To the farm's white wisp of smoke.

A spark burns, high in heaven.

Deer thread the blossoming

Of the old orchard,

Hop by the well-curb.

The cock

From the tree by the widow's walk;

Two stars in the trees to the west,

Are snared, and an owl's soft

Runs like a breath through the forest.

Here too, though death is hushed, though

Obscures, like night, their wars,

The beings of this world are

By the Strife that moves the stars.