Size / / /

The bloated opal moon, in black sapphire sky, nudges diamond stars.
I stretch my greedy arms, to seize the stellar jewels,
To snatch the ruby leaves off trees, like coins of gypsy gold.
I'll steal the screech owl's eyes of onyx and use them as my own.
On pilfered silver wings I'll fly into the night, my treasure chest.

 

Copyright © 2004 Dawn Stanton

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Dawn Stanton is a freelance writer and graduate student in a literary nonfiction program. She resides in Portland, Oregon. To contact her, email dastant6@aol.com.



Bio to come.
Current Issue
10 Aug 2026

the sleeping are so hard to distinguish / from the dead
We'd only lived in Arizona four years—it was our retirement place. But I'd died there, and she'd dumped my ashes out in the desert without fanfare, without any poem or prayer, unless you considered, “Jesus, Marty, don't leave me. Why'd you leave me, you old bastard" to be an elegy.
Nature, desecrated, refused to yield more than bone
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