Night Piece

Cut of farm roofs, black against sunset,

owl hoot sounding the depth of woods:

the present is a blade you could try with your thumb.

It is a haunting thought that there are no ghosts,

only this black and shining edge.

Copyright © 2002 Jeremy Hooker All rights reserved
from Adamah
Enitharmon Press / Dufour Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission