The aspen shakes its coins
at the moon. The moon pulls
at the sea. The woman wakes
before dawn. Morning light casts
rainbows on white walls. Later
she turns in her bed, restless
and damp, an over-warm after-
noon nap. Birch trees whisper
at the river’s edge. She dreams
of children, bellies like melons,
swollen and empty. At dusk, swallows
sweep the sky. She sleeps again.
The tide comes in. The tide goes out.
The moon, the sea, and the aspen tree.
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