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Clear cold nights remind me
of the Ozarks, of looking
through the leafless trees
standing like skeletons
who shield the silent stars.
Tonight the branches cradle
the moon in a ribcage,
and I wonder how this light
shines after so many years.
a boy takes refuge
in the silent woods of winter,
trading the noise inside
for the soft crackle of leaves
that mark each step to the frozen
lake below. standing above
the icy water’s edge
he spends hours lofting stones
towards the sky, waiting
and watching each one,
like words, poke a perfect hole
through the ice and softly
sink into the startled stillness.
From Awaiting the Images
stone’s throw first appeared in Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Number 42, 2015
Awaiting the Images 