Deanne Bayer

For Those Beginning Moments 
I Cease to Believe

Once snow
has been breached
by bird tracks, sullying
the perfection
that lurches
for its own level, why
should I believe
that any living creature can fly?

Once desert
scalds day
and night-chilled sand
roils
with wind’s deception, how
can I believe
in the synergy of compromise?

leaking magnum
flushing light

clashing clouds
taste of rain

cracks in certainty
the planet as prayer

Jungle Nights, City Lights

Sentinel windows cage
their naked yellow light, spears
of violet night
dart through the trees. Rocking
on the porch,
not to the piercing yowl
of mackaw and monkey,
but the white noise drone
of air conditioners, my eyes shift
spaceward, searching
for stars blinded
by the man-made glare, interlopers
forced to share 
with the stone spires
of this city jungle
the unfathomable violet night.

Deanne Bayer’s poems have appeared in numerous magazines, including Sulphur River Review, Cape Rock, Small Pond, Pudding, Plainsongs, and Green Hills. She lives in Ohio.