by Walter McDonald
out on the porch in moonlight. Under the quilts, I saw.
They knew I hid in the house, and took their time. I believed
if I closed my eyes they'd find me, thought if I saw them,
I'd die, even if they heard me breathe. Tonight,
the moon is a ghost over the barn a thousand yards downhill.
Geese clipping the moon go without knowing how swift,
how beautiful they are. I'll light the lantern, the
and darted, millions of sips each hour. I watched amazed
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