All summer, I watched moose
pause at the field's edge, consider
their course. Then, later, calves returned
to chase each other under light that waned
but did not stop. What readies the green
for greening, the calf for cleaving
into its own?
I feel whole when I am with you, and whole
when I am away. (This is new.) Here,
the river's rushing strips the land's profusion
as my mind softens with rain. I'm reading books
on failed intimacy, how one advances
while the other retreats. But this
is not our story. In June,
even the darkest night is dusk. I pull silk
over my eyes, coax myself into dream,
where I cross a mossy forest floor
in reverie, the light dappling fallen trees.
Here, my heart softens, mistakes
a snow-capped volcano for cloud.
Solstice by Megan Pinto| Garden Lavender Poetry Reed Diffuser
$15.00Price
Megan Pinto is the author of Saints of Little Faith (Four Way Books in the US, the87press in the UK & Ireland) and the chaplet Lovesick (Belladonna* Collaborative).
Megan’s poems can be found in the Los Angeles Review of Books, Poets.org, Ploughshares, the Slowdown Podcast and elsewhere. She has won the Anne Halley Prize from the Massachusetts Review and an Amy Award from Poets & Writers, as well as scholarships and fellowships from the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, the Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing, the Port Townsend Writers’ Conference and Storyknife.
Megan lives in Brooklyn.
