KS Culbreth

In the Shadow of the Sycamore

In the shadow of the sycamore,
A vibrant moon, peach and shimmering
— Electric as the leap of a spark
— And stranger than voices in the dark
Stars falling around us, too
— Either thunderbolts or shooting stars
— Of dust that has been, stardust that we are.

There is a moment we’ve named Before
Then the torch of a moon now bluer
— As a leaf we’ve christened After alights
— Upon the last of these, our summer nights
The moon charged, a humming sound, too
— A touch and spark, fire between our eyes,
— A smoke we call Faith under burning skies.

A whisper, promissory tone, a halo
About the moon; a blazing hell
— Above us, where are we, then –
— Could we have worse than sinned?
Beneath us a quaking ground, too
— Ground that still sustains
— Where all history yet remains.