Nocturn
- Editorial Staff
- 9 hours ago
- 1 min read
by Jean-Paul Thuot
When she stirs, the night nestles close,
the sky is cracked open
you can hear the wind
The winnowing moon
blows clouds like chaff seaward
when she stirs, the night nestles close
Sighing, hands reach for hands
the moon turns away
you can hear the wind
Distant hills gather starlight
the trees are fingers reaching
when she stirs, the night nestles close
In the agony of creation
even the boldest cry out
my love, when you stir
the night nestles close,
I can hear the wind
Jean-Paul Thuot lives on Lekwungen First Nations land, known as Vancouver Island British Columbia, where he draws great inspiration from nature and observing humans in all facets of their lives. Writing with vivid imagery and spare language, he seeks to draw attention to the hidden and introspective side of lived experience. His work has been accepted by Marion West, The Brussels Review, Pictura Journal, Touchstone, and most recently by Poetry.ca for their Poem in Your Pocket 2025 collection.