what is a poem?

            sometimes
            it’s a black smudge
            in the sky, a puff of smoke
            from the tall factory chimney
            across the road.
            sometimes
            it’s a patch of sun
            on a chair that sits by itself
            in a quiet room
            full of old furniture.
            sometimes
            it’s that feeling of
            waiting,
            the crumpled page on the floor,
            the smell of oil paint on a battered brush.
            sometimes
        it’s a pack of dogs on the run
        moving as one, like a train
        on a track, clickety
      clack.

When the moon is full

When the moon is full
its magnetic pull
tugs at the ocean floor,
finds things hidden
under pale white sands.

When the moon is full
it traces a trail in the desert
to things lost over time
and to things held still
in the roots of trees.

When the moon is full
things come out of the shadows:
cries unheard on the inside,
soldiers screams buried
in boundaries.

When the moon is full
all dark things slip out
for a quiet moment,
into the light
of the starless night.