From the Porch

Evening settles with such stillness
that we miss the first small stars.
Luminous night moths, flickering
around their temple of light,
throw fistfuls of shadow 
across our faces.  Alone
on this porch, we watch the horses
move through thier blackening field.
But we place no bets tonight.
Growing into our weaknesses,
supple as skin, we invent
no last chances at glory.
Tired now, we can give away
these questions we toss like
pebbles to the stars.  They are too
honest, too rough in our fists,
to have any answers waiting.

Christine Crockett's Questions:

Does the poem read as "resigned," or does it also contain the seed of "possiblity"?

I've worked for a long time on this poem--is the overall effect of the voice and line natural? labored?

Sound Machine

Behind your door
the clear brook tumbles,
one ceaseless glide
over  pebbles
colored like autumn.

This water carries you
from memory to memory,
where young girls gliding
on frozen ponds,
scarves ablaze 
in trails behind them,
their small breaths left
in thin tufts of mist,
the fading notes of voices thinning 
to grey, 
then silence
and the aching.

Your water sounds
move through silent springs.
Your brook continues to wind and tumble,

the exhaled breaths of young girls freeze
on the surface
as you sleep 
beneath,
as you glide the lost and blackening waters,
waiting for the ice 
to be empty again.  Waiting for the memory
to cease.

Christine Crockett's Questions:

Do the two settings of water and ice work together to effectively convey the subject of the poem?

Is the poem's perspective too subjective to convey the subject at all?