by Rose Maria Woodson

Wound upon wound.

Ginko leaves fall together.
A hymn of stems.
Only in unison is the tree
protected. What is left standing
is worth the fall.

Moonshine.
Nightshine.
When maize & barley
shimmy with water.
High spirits slake
throat & heart.
Cull hope from husks. You
know why it’s illegal.

What sings to you?
What kisses you,
closes your eyes, opens
your mouth,
plunges you, otherwise,
into the well of your soul?

Image by Leopictures from Pixabay