Her name is Amina. The keeper of the tribe's goats, she knows all the paths and all the trails on the great plateau of white stones that stretches all the way to the horizon. She walks and hops on the ... [+]
Francis Daulerio is the author of two books of poetry, If & When We Wake (2015) and Please Plant This Book (2018). More info at FrancisDaulerio.com.
Holy is the thingon its slow dance across the night,all chalk-faced and beaming,filling the bedroomwith its ancient light, and peakingthrough all the windows while I tossover and over and over in the shine,actually a little pissedat how not dark tonight's dark is.And normally I'd welcomethis bright peace,having spent many a small hour pressedagainst the window,and just last month jostled my wifeawake, shirtless and giddy,to watch the thing slip behind the earthand vanish, singingthat Bonnie Tyler song as she burrowedback beneath her pillows,slinging groans and slanderswhile the moon, too, tuck