Sunsets and Silencers

"My Father Grazes in the Fields of Moon" and "Dig a Hole" by Steve Klepetar

My Father Grazes in the Fields of Moon

Now he's a horse with shining mane, moon
creature swaying on his spindle legs, grunting
his grassy lyrics into starlight blurred with mist.

I have heard him sing the ballad of beautiful
wells, and wondered at the splendid notes
of his inhuman voice, how the cold spring air
trembled and stillness woke as a chorus of wails.

And tonight again he's the king of dreams,
bending his long neck to drink at a slash of light.
I have seen him in the fields of moon, gambling
his smooth, black shadow on the heartsick wind.

He is movement and muscle, a heart, a spring,
a moment before one last, wild leap, a gaping
silence before roaring wave wrecks every ear.

I have watched from my window as night
seeped down beneath earth and roots,
felt the nothing he leaves behind, the emptiness
he trails like a mantle of dead leaves and snow.

Dig a Hole

Dig a hole and the earth springs back
flying at your face like a thing come home.

Your hands create darkness, you become
a space, a breath held long, an open wound.

Sometimes the air thickens and your lungs
pull against roots, your house disappears

and your shoulders grow a painful eruption
of wings. It isn't safe, you know, to trouble

the world with words. Even your tongue
with its rough beads can split into several

thousand worlds. Even your hair can grow
into a desert where strange, spiky plants

explode into blossom with the rare gift of rain.

Steve Klepetar teaches literature and writing at Saint Cloud State University in Minnesota.  His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize.