do the clouds part for loneliness? cresting.
the sun cradles the moon at sunrise.
flesh falls from hollow bones. the
osprey eat dinner alone. together.
the bees may not make it through winter.
we cannot pollinate this old growth home.
the berries stain purple under jagged thumbnails.
boy kitten asks, ‘how do we paint our dinner?’
needles bend under padded paws the future
weaves in translucent spider threads.
peaches ripen sweeter fallen undertow. wasps
drown in heavy nets, never tasting anguish.
Their nest, splayed ragged on the roadside.
How do we see, if we don’t slow down to
Hope is the nourishment. Cupping the
moon, silverhanded, we harvest.
– Amy Bobeda
Amy Bobeda is an artist living in Colorado, pursuing her MFA at Naropa University. She is the founder of the Wisdom Body Collective and Ekphrasis Salon. Her work is featured in Ursa Minor, Humble Pie, We’ll Never Have Paris, and Nabalo Magazine. To follow her pursuits check out http://blondewanderlust.com.