The black owl

The black owl eyes me:
a sharpness in the shapeless dark
I'm awake as a knife:

thought inks,
the dull drops
ache a slow fall,

entering a thick night,
the mind giants collide
and turn to stone

my red bloom:
a ghost in the glow
of this unforgiving moon.

The clouds,
the fat clouds
will not let me see,

In this ruthless absence
sleep blinks like a hunted light
on the edge of a dream