M. T. C. Cronin


Half the Shadowed World

Sleep, like peaches
fallen to the ground
(hand pressed to the

cheek), boot-bruised
side cannot feel.
Juice in the earth.

Shadow of a Unicorn

This horse on its knees
in the field
Pretending to be a unicorn
As horses play and imagine
Another day
A night
Black trees . . .

The horse on its feet
has grown a horn and saddle
Imagines the voice
Of a rider:
Those far hills
Are simply shadows
Of these you stand on . . .

The Doorweb

Listen at the keyhole of light.
The doorweb.
Shimmering across.
Shimmering like a cocked horse.
Ready to fire.

Hot hooves are on my head tonight.
The room's flat and dark as ears.
On the roof the cumquat tree.
Offering sweet peel to the moon.

My bed.
Is filled up with time.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 26, 2018

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