Skunk Moon

Double moon buries stars. Pitted spheres of pallid colors. Caladium climbs, searches for sun. Heart-shaped centers bleed. Grinding wheel resists gale. Pitted stone heavy as sin. Skunk scurries past wooden fence, scurries back, its mind not right. Think of Lowell's “Skunk Hour.” No urban noise disturbs my peace. No electric light supplants fire. Wayward buoys in inky sky. Heat broils skin alive. Globe burns, mindless. Solace in canyons, caves. Clouds darken, bloated with rain. Birthing pains. Delivery at noon. Hills hurl sun to dawn. Shadows flee. I wander fields of stone, scuff boots, pray for peace. Eastern blue. Ghost moon rises.