by KB Ballentine
The Plough Moon rides faultlines
of the wind, licks the sea with light
as Pisces scales the sky though frost tickles
the cedars. Milky vapor hazes the heath.
A fox, nose lifted, disappears
into the hazelwood, forked arrow
of an adder tonguing the mist.
Crickets grieve under starlight,
and the bay echoes the graves—
gray and hushed, shadowed. Riptide tugs,
sand sloughing the shingle,
clusters of eelgrass swaying, flowing
like a mermaidís hair drifting,
washing away with the phantom of dawn.