Elliot Greiner

Going

Open door;
what comes in,
will.

Storm

Hollow moon:
black bitten, interrogated by
cloud... 

Listen--

to wind, 
light, 
tired from what it cannot reach; 
to the future a
scar predicts. 

Know that even ugly things
must be kept,
nursed by their uncertain weights;

This night, this storm, this you,
included