Sweet Potato Haircut

Deep in the wooded night 

bright eyes begin to open

stretching sweetly into

the humming dark

ready for the black to

yawn its gaping mouth,

teeth sparkling across the sky.

Everything is waiting to be eaten, by and by.

My mind whirls,

useful till it’s not.

The day looms large and I’m sad until

I see the sky

who clouds and cries until

she opens again to her light

and warmth

remaining the sky all the while.

And I think I might

shine somewhere inside,

and cloud and cry

revealing my light at times

while I meander through time

waiting to be eaten.

When I die, piece by piece,

life can have its feast.