Miranda Haydn

Black Velvet

In darkness,
I reach for the railing,
guided to the bathroom
by the moonshine through the parted curtain,
the sensor light near the floor.

In the night,
coyotes assemble, fragment the frozen silence.
Their chatter, wails, and howls
interweave in frequencies I cannot interpret.
Do they make all that noise to cover up that of their prey?

If it was me out there, vulnerable to the pack,
Would my voice be heard above their collective racket?
Would it carry through enough to summon help?

When their gathering ends, stillness fills the room.
Your warm hand wrapped around mine.
Midnight sky and stars roll around us.
We tuck back into sleep.

Deep in earth,
curled grubs burrow, earthworms rest.

In hollow spaces, black bears sleep.
Their pink babies,
small enough to fit into a measuring cup,
suckle until the spring.


Dance

Dance in the dew of the sunrise,
balance on flower of sweet woodruff,
umbrella canopies soften my steps.

Pivot within streams of moonlight,
worry and trouble departing,
waltz in the middle of shimmering mist.

Spin when your eyes light and sparkle,
when they laugh with surrendering joy,
when the weight that we bear falls away.


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