I could swear there’s a ghost
in the cloudless night because
I feel someone, something.
An inky hawk against the moon
peeks into the lacy trees. (He’s not
now searching for the mouse.)
A cerulean shadow speaks of the unseen.
Am I waiting and for what? The bold moon
seems to know things I don’t.
Sarah Wood grew up in Richardson, TX and got a B.A. in Plan II from the University of Texas at Austin and an M.A. in English from the University of North Texas. A former teacher and technical writer, she lives with her dog and three cats in Dallas.
