POET OF THE MONTH
Set a Watch
By Sam Calhoun
Red deck. Red morning.
Who cares that the sun
rises beyond the neighbor’s barn?
How it’s flash sends a thousand
birds like dust into the sky?
Maybe the oaks, legended deep
with their marscescent leaves
collecting light, dew dripped
like sweat to the forest floor,
maybe the beech, or the witch hazel
casting sparks, spells in their sleep.
I set a watch west, open windows, doors,
see my silhouette as shadow puppets,
my fingers music notes in the blinds.
See the sun sparkle the birdbath,
the dove stop to drink, then blue jay.
Each morning this is my aim—
Find a light. Let it pass through.
Catch Basin
By Sam Calhoun
In the dark deer slip
past spent corn stalks,
their chortles join the owls,
lost time keepers, fireflies
signing the edge of forest,
the night a catch basin for hours,
the distant dog an alarm with no clock.
I can hear the scrape
of old leaves, a hoof tangled
in morning glory vine
dragging that old year still
in mid-winter, so dark
this night, nothing passes
But breath as it wrinkles past stars.
