Moonvine
It opens as distant twilight gallops in;
nightfall, the bursting white grows ghost,
the unexpected host of the startled vine,
floating above or twining down below
the trellis and window. The urgent trembling
into bloom: each night, another birth.
A paper bird of many wings unfolding,
the hollow center catches and thirsts
for life beyond itself: moonglow, visitors
who drift or stumble in and sleep all day,
perhaps unexpectedly having to wait
for night in the nook of the shadowed face.
Evening, you can ask it with your hands
to spread early—it might. A slight touch
can start a life. Dawn, it shudders back
into itself. A Morning Glory unfurls.
Carlene Kucharczyk’s debut collection Strange Hymn was published this spring by the University of Massachusetts Press and is the winner of the Juniper Prize for Poetry. Read more.
"Moonvine" from Strange Hymn (University of Massachusetts 2025). Reprinted with permission from University of Massachusetts Press.