By Maya Borhani
This nest of sun-crackled grass pulls me earthward
like seed heads drowsy with late summer’s weight,
more prone than upright, closer to winter
than to the longest day. Sunk to earth’s
inevitable bed of gravity and limb,
my gaze wanders out over silvery water,
body a nimbus to float senses
Late September afternoon
boating crowds gone home,
seagulls turn a lazy curve, dive
over umber-colored cliffs, wet
sluice of pebbles and beach below.
Herring swirl in sapphire nets
of sunlight glinting off banked ripples,
strands of current pulled to shore
under gibbous moon’s invisible sway.
Salmon jump in minty shallows,
splash and rise in airborne arc
of scales lighting heavenward.
Eagles carve the horizon,
cleave naked sky with silent wings
that leave glittering shadows
on the water in their wake,
like disappearing hieroglyphics
to discern the faltering light to come.
Copyright Maya Borhani 2010