you and me in a wood, though neither did, both of us wanted to
ghost pine tremble, under a light reflected off moon’s mountains
ours are snowcapped, silhouetted in the background, no bird call
only a hush, a subtle crackling static of starlight itching to arrive
no footsteps in the night, a silence inside of a silence, the silence
falls into, nesting dolls of oblivion echo for an eternity, as image
after image of you comes back to me, words, as strays, come too
inimical, comical, recalling how i wept, in pain, or with laughter
at all the damage your beauty caused me, you and me in a wood,
no shadow of doubt, as it pertains to eternity, i long for certainty
i struggle to remember, on nights when these ghost pine tremble
ghost pine tremble, under a light reflected off moon’s mountains
ours are snowcapped, silhouetted in the background, no bird call
only a hush, a subtle crackling static of starlight itching to arrive
no footsteps in the night, a silence inside of a silence, the silence
falls into, nesting dolls of oblivion echo for an eternity, as image
after image of you comes back to me, words, as strays, come too
inimical, comical, recalling how i wept, in pain, or with laughter
at all the damage your beauty caused me, you and me in a wood,
no shadow of doubt, as it pertains to eternity, i long for certainty
i struggle to remember, on nights when these ghost pine tremble
Stephen Jackson lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. His poems have most recently appeared or are forthcoming in The American Journal of Poetry, Chronotope, Grey Sparrow Journal, International Human Rights Art Festival Publishes, The Inflectionist Review, Impossible Archetype, and pacificREVIEW. Please follow him at https://twitter.com/fortyoddcrows