Charles Burchfield, Orion in December, 1959
Laying like in dreams
with eyes open, cold
glassy and moving
to darkened tones of
mostly muddled greys.
Everything up,
drawn toward the source,
open and raised our-
gaze moves to sky.
Laying below surface
hiding from the Hunter
who walks on water
like sea monsters
standing taller than trees.
The bends of our necks
rest along a dank log
it's decaying but
death is not yet here
inside the body
of this old oak tree.
It's insect inhabitants
are eating, they play
Carl Vine's Symphony
Number 5 to the light-
flickers of Apollo's truth,
as the Hunter aims small
and we feel the mass of it.
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