All night we remain in a state of late dusk.
Three or four stars above shimmer bravely.
Come dawn, that pale slate-gray edge, we gather
ourselves, our smaller congruences seeming
to fit together. We see the pattern of the labyrinth
only from above, or when it is flattened.
When the walls are tall, the shrubbery grown,
surprises extend around every rounded corner:
not minotaurs, but the scaly tails of goofy blue
and pink sad-eyed dragons looking for friends.
So, fly up like a hawk. Hover above the complex
center like a bee. Shine with a star’s distance.
Catwalk over the spires of this crumbling tower.
Be kind. Persist. Let the dark night return.
Joanna Brook is a queer, animist poet of Native and European American descent. They live and write in the Willamette Valley of Oregon.
