s it our faces absorbed into shadow
\nthat give countenance to the moon?
\nSongs have never said this is so,
\nnor informed recitations or ceremonies.<\/p>\n
We can only see this stepping
\nfrom dream to the charcoal edge of morning,
\ncontemplating the grandmother
\nscooping the broth of night with the horns.<\/p>\n
The face in daylight lives in sun shadow,
\npresent indefinite tense of utterances
\nunlikely to cohere with the clouds\u2019 flecked
\nstreaks or scallop mantles.<\/p>\n
Each flower on the hillside is child
\nto the moon, an elder relation to memory,
\nfaces absorbed in the shadows of smiles
\nof women inverting the flashing stars.<\/p>\n
The shadow
\nwith the grandmother is
\nthe dwelling place, protector of forms
\nand shapes, the eyes and mouths
\nat the circle of consciousness
\nlike a feline ruminating a doorway.<\/p>\n
What goes around here, hand-held,
\ngoose-winged, looking from the sky world
\ninto the afterglow of the gibbous moon?
\nWhere do the faces go absorbed past recognition
\ninto the living realm of parallel gesture
\nwhere they move about and speak
\naccording to desires or the murmurs of prey,
\nowl faces far off in the trees
\ncalling their visions, repeating names?<\/p>\n
A woman asleep on her side
\nhalf sees the full moon and
\nsplits this knowledge
\nto absorb that other side.<\/p>\n
From their path the ones leaving
\ncan see other sides of the face,
\nare absorbed sometimes penetrating sleep
\nor send home envoys never confronted
\nby the sleeper to cajole and accompany and
\nto disrupt the agendas of continuities
\nfragmenting in front of the collected faces
\ndancing around the moon\u2019s other shadows.<\/p>\n
It is the clearing within the trees, isn\u2019t it,
\nthat is like the face of the moon?
\nThat is like the eyes in the dream
\none sees and cannot recognize,
\nthe deliberate cycles of facial influence
\nbordered by cedar, by white willow and fir,
\nthe rabbit-pocked snowface surrounding the home
\nand the hawk sentinels in hermeneutic pose?<\/p>\n
All shadows are miasmic in grandmother\u2019s light
\nscooping the broth, are drinking it
\nfrom the horns, our faces familiar to the liquid.<\/p>\n
Isn\u2019t it in the dreaming of shadows
\nmaking the faces, the absorbent countenance
\nrealizing the obtuse flowers of song,
\nwhat the grandmother feeds us
\nto strengthen our singing,
\nour faces to the singing of her songs?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
s it our faces absorbed into shadow that give countenance to the moon? Songs have never said this is so, nor informed recitations or ceremonies. We can only see this stepping from dream to the charcoal edge of morning, contemplating the grandmother scooping the broth of night with the horns. The face in daylight lives…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":58,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"issue":[7],"coauthors":[],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n