by Sue Proffitt

Something edge-on

half-hid figure in a dream
you see her
don’t see her,
peering through the dark
for a thicker black
in the thicket of grasses
clicking their dry bones –
disturbing a scrape of stone.

In this held spell
this leakage of light
where all is seepage
and a slow filling-up – there –
in the sudden glare
of the lighthouse
two ears, pricked;
her stare guttural deep
in the stomach’s pit.

The night splits
(for a breath held)
thickens back to black.

From Open After Dark, Oversteps, 2017