by Jane Flint

All through the dark
bright wind.      Owls whirr.
A dog sniffs for smoke.
In noonday night the stars burn.

All through the light
brown wind.     What’s unclasped
breaks free. Live oak limb
and rusty nail loosen fence slat.

Eucalyptus twists
to west.           Flare now flays
parched hillside where
blown branch and chaff cascade.

Bad luck to dig
the grave         before the dying.
In the failing short-day season
so much of falling is like flying.

Jane Flint received a BA from Antioch College and an MA from Pacific Oaks College. In addition to writing poetry, her career to date has included creating animated films, independently and for PDI/DreamWorks, working with children and teens in hospitals and mental health facilities, and writing and editing for journals, blogs, and websites in the software and healthcare industries.