Above Fernan Lake

A shadow falls away
As the moon falls
And the sun rises.

My hand against the elm
trembles. Bringing it
back to my body I hug myself.

The cherry tree weighs
slightly to the west.
Yellow and coral gathering
on tender branch.
Like the newborn sky.
Miniature suns on beams—
I want to instill the light.

On tip-toe I pluck one
And suck its sweetness
dry. Right to the stone.

Blues and greens pool
in the foggy valley below.
I sit upon my rock—moss
within the crags.
My fingers rub its softness.
And I wonder Why cannot my own
skin hold such beauty.