Cycles

Across the street, the neighbor is awake—
her kitchen window is an orange square

in this dark dawn. My kitchen glows
with a similar light. I imagine the two of us

praising the coming day with an offering
of coffee and prayer. Last night, coyotes

yipped and shrieked, their voices closer
than their bodies. A deer in the graveyard:

food for a family of four. What more
is there to say? Every life is fed by another

death; every death tilts the world in a new direction.
Listen: the cry of your grandchild is the birth of time.

‘

Amy G. Smith is a poet living and writing in Northern Nevada. Her poems have appeared in several places, including: Humana Obscura, contemporary haibun online, Unbroken, and wildscape.literary journal. Amy is currently pursuing her MFA degree in poetry through the low-residency program at the University of Nevada, Reno at Lake Tahoe.