Reflection, the moon’s milk
and penumbra, yields
to source, brash shine, exact
expression. I have seen the same,
a broken umbrella skyward
becomes two ravens
and descends.
Do you remember
hiding? The wolf, his wet teeth?
The boards under your bed
that held when you slept
kept us. And we would breathe
like we had run. All this time.
When we come out
everything visible
becomes light.