" Gossip "
Flat land stretches
silent, pleased to keep its
secrets, protective of the
moonless sky that will labor
with the birth; pushing up,
pushing out through the earth.
In the morning, new stones,
still damp with afterbirth,
will cry for the breast
of Mother Earth.
They are bastards,
the sun will whisper;
no mountain has spewed them,
no hills loosed them,
no accounting for their being
here where
horizon and sun
are one.
Fatherless,
the wind will echo.
Shameless,
the stars will bellow.
Silent,
the moon will stay,
knowing why it disappeared.
© 2002 Plove (Peggy Eldridge-Love)
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