Racoon’s Lament

The Bird was teasing him, 

thrumming through the tree.

The tree was teasing him,

trembling its tenuous branch tips in the twilight, 

Hiding birds. 

Like a scoundrel. 

The Treetop hid the moon as it fell, 

its wicked glow an eye about to close,

its silver light a waning breath,

he drank its cold milk,

wanted to crack its smooth surface 

and also drink

the warm yolk

as it slipped down 

the bruising 

sky.