pizzicatiIThe moon, in her odd dance through the clouds, mocks the abandoned skiff,snaps its mooring line as if she might take it fishing.IIBoat-tailed grackles confuse the             

insides milky, some on into night wise, catching of pine moons above dawn for there, cups hold the permanence of curbstones a lone wolf here goes a long way towards tipped understanding (lilies and river runs m