Safehouse

Against the moon, bruised
          in ruddy eclipse,
                    I find the thorntree’s nest

abandoned, a tangle
          of bluestem & sage.
                    Last spring the mourning

doves fled the battered roost,
          the brood lost
                    early, shells weathered

to white dust. New seekers
          now, as sparrows tease
                    the bent leaves & mottled

wrens weave moonlight
          to madness in their quick
                    & raucous wit.

The laughter calls
          the great-horned owl,
                    cast like a gargoyle

on the horizon of rooftop—
          eyes red as the shadowed
                    moon, as the earth’s own

waning. A low cry
          & the songbirds drop
                    to cold silence,

the nest cracked open
          to the ravenous night—
                    the safehouse sold.

by Simmons B. Buntin
appearing in Hawk & Whippoorwill Volume 2, Number 2, Winter 2010