Constance Hansen
Woodsdark
path, blue
with spruce light.
Brambles do the gathering.
Sweater catch, ankle scratch.
Barn Owl cocks her head.
Her sideways face a white heart
outlined in warm brown.
Absences, her eyes.
Void is one way to say before.
Sound is one way to say parallel
to the ocean, an inlet of brine.
Waves curl in the sea damp.
Backhanded, I would
wipe them from your brow.
Cool through, what’s behind you
beats under a distant tree,
deciduous as love in the fall.
Only find the hill the sky holds gold.
Looking back bears no significance.
Neither salts nor sacrifices.
Confess. Did you say yes
to the first threshold
you fell asleep upon,
so weary so weary
from the hunt?
We’re never alone
is another way to say
I believe—
don’t say what in
if you mean stay.
It’s flightier than a bee bird.
What’s flightier than a bee bird?
Don’t answer.
Misunderstandings
thorn the wilderness.
Remember
when you heard stay
as a dog does,
trembling and still,
watching as the speaker
backed away?
Constance Hansen reads “Woodsdark”
Constance Hansen is Managing Editor of Poetry Northwest. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in: RHINO, West Branch, Image Journal, Harvard Review Online, Four Way Review, Northwest Review, Vallum, Southern Humanities Review, Leavings, On the Seawall, and elsewhere. She lives in Seattle. You may learn more at www.constancehansen.com.