Cabin

Where is your home,
I ask the rain. Any goddess

could cross this threshold,
toweling sunrise into her hair.

What is stone, the rain replies,
who is vertigo, where erasure.

The cabin’s walls are wood
gathered from the shore.

Any bird could find its way
between the boards.

Dark pours out the door;
morning motes a poem

on the air. Water answers
in all its voices.

---

J.I. Kleinberg’s poems have been published in print and online journals worldwide. An artist, poet, freelance writer, and three-time Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, she lives in Bellingham, Washington, USA, and on Instagram @jikleinberg.

Motes illustration by C.B. Auder.

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