Amends

Amends 
BY ADRIENNE RICH

Nights like this: on the cold apple-bough
a white star, then another
exlploding out of the bark:
on the ground, moonlight picking at small stones

as it picks at greater stones as it rises with the surf
laying its cheeck for moments on the sand
as it licks the broken ledge, as it flows up the cliffs,
as it flicks across the tracks

as it unavailing pours into gash
of the sand-and-gravel quarry
as it leans across the hangared fuselage
of the crop dusting plane

as it soaks through cracks into trailers
tremulous wit sleep
as it dwells upon the eyelids of sleepers
as if to make amends.