A Meadow at Night

I am having the sensation

of a thing lost. 

A greater losing,

like losing a star,

it was small but 

the whole sky bereft is huge 

and aching. 

The pressure drags behind my eyes,

like calming a dog down 

before thunderstorm, 

autumnal pressure.

And meadows at night are still,

meadows at night are still meadows.

Somebody showed me a crystal ball

which reflected the world upside down. 

And it was beautiful that way, 

skewed vision, still a 

meadow at night.

I stuffed you with moss 

and all at once you were

alight and crackling.

Pull my nightgown above my head

as if it were night itself.

I will reveal the truer shape of things,

like daybreak. 

I'm only gnawing bones, anyway, 

only stitching lacerations,

only cradling bare feet like a broken

vestal, 

one that threw wide the doors 

and freed the sacrifice