by Katrinka Moore

Her mind a passerine

claws firm on the bough

her body a flowering

tree     She knows

what’s blooming

A luminist

she sees light    

fall into woods

waft over

the undergrowth

A numinist    

she reflects

the weave of seen

and unseen

What’s in her fieldbox

A spectrum     spirit tin

spyglass     spirals

a mud-splattered

map of the air

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Katrinka Moore’s latest book is Wayfarers (Pelekinesis, 2018). Her previous books are Numa, Thief, and This is Not a Story, winner of the New Women’s Voices prize. Recent work appears in Otoliths, Woven Tale, First Literary Review-East, and Leaping Clear, and in the anthology, Weaving the Terrain: 100-Word Southwestern Poems (Dos Gatos Press). She lives in New York City and Manor Kill, NY. For more, please see https://katrinkamoore.weebly.com.