7.
Your brothers, with their glistening heads,
face the cart roads when they clatter home -
they fear the sky that pulls up the darkness.
You, instead, you reach up to tug
the shadow from the moon
with nimble archer’s fingers -
Those fingers were in my dream one night,
swimming together playfully in my hair,
then they pushed it gently from my eyes.
8.
As hard and clunky as beetles
marching through the gravel
but more like peeking children
behind doe eyed mothers