Lunar composition by Frank LoohuisThe voices I hear are bringing me
a belly full of wet
sand. All night querulous

phantoms spark and flame
against wet boughs, I see them

bursting from fragments
of dream
horses wild as foaming
waves rushing

aground through throaty roar of caves.


Here at the eastern edge
of night
my name becomes
a song
on the wind’s
empty back, hands

framing a mask of salt
and mud
and oak and old leaves—

Alone, I sail backward
into spring, leap
ground nests and soft
remnants of gray-tattered coats

and sticks, chicken
wire strands, bearing again

and again the fearful weight of moon.

Copyright © 2008, Steve Klepetar

Image Credit: Frank Loohuis, some rights reserved

Steve Klepetar teaches literature and writing at Saint Cloud State University, where he spends as much time as possible talking with astronomers, who are even madder than poets.