DRINK THE DUST
She turns like a glacier
Carving creases and furrows
Across a silken face.
I giggle into my shoulder
And lower my glazing eyes.
Cobwebs in corners hang with dew
Until she smiles.
Then lies dance in one sharp sunbeam.
The table is dusty,
Waiting for my glass.
And doors shut like periods.
And space fills space.
I drink dust with clenched eyes
Stung by diamond spark.
MONTANA TUESDAY NIGHT
Tonight, before moon creased the sky,
In that once moment when owls clean talons,
Twitch, turn, and blink your soul close,
The winds race through our empty trees.
Our night is powdered and hard.
Coyotes break snows crust first this year
And their cries tell us
How little they like that work.
Cold slinks low here,
Our feet always numb.
We squint, not for the sun,
But in hope of finding it.
Joe Meyers is a graduate of the University of Montana 1977 with a B.A. in English. Montana native and never left. Divorced, no children, retired baker. Been writing poetry, off and on, since graduation.