I found a place
in the dwindling meadow,
a sanctuary strong standing
boldly fixtured under a hazy sky
where future stretch reflects
what is in my eyes,
defying corruption
that creeps up along birthing rivers,
over footsteps of mountains
cradling streams
where my life began,
now I take refuge
in the tall wild grass,
open trusting, alive because
of the river,
my sister and I,
we hold on valiantly
against the push
of plaster and wire
that drinks our water,
occupies our meadow,
but it cannot have us,
me or my sister,
or what is ours,
it cannot have us
we play beyond
what will tries to poison
our mother

Ring around the moon,

your breath of ice

is the summation of a night

upon many nights,

where strangers pass

blurry-faced along

moonlit boulevards–

so many times

this happens,

and so many times

I feel Luna circles

around my eyes and

stray feet.

Guide me

away,

mother Luna,

away from

straight lines hiding faces,

out of these rings

of isolation

and into

your own ring

of solidarity

reigning mighty

in the heavens

 

Pomegranates 

 

You took me to
a pomegranate tree
once, it had
only a few leaves
and one sad looking fruit,
it being the middle
of January and all

“In spring
this tree
could be rich,”

we were going to
your house, you were drunk
and I was intoxicated
too, but in a way
that would leave me
with a worse hangover
than yours

you showed me
this tree, you were
so excited,
it had only one fruit,
it was a small pomegranate,

it was a small detour
towards where
I would hold you
and love you

kind of like the way
I love a fresh pomegranate

but it happened
too soon,
you plucked the fruit
from the tree
before it was ripe

and we never
got to eat it

— Sam Burks is a regular contributor, editor, and sushi chef from Gilroy, CA. He may be reached at srburks@gmail.com