J.J. Clarke
 

Sample Poem

The Crow of the Moon

In from the sea,
capitalizing on the way
the wind is whipping things.
This crow comes to
my tent every evening like
the wrong kind of bat, and I,

I clamp myself in canvas
murdering my sleep with silences,
but he’s there come morning,
hawked like a chancre on
the lip of tent,
not wanting anything from
me but silence.  And I do.

I keep my silences.