1.
I wish I could see the moon now; I’m sure she feels
as incomplete as I do–
I bet she’s orange and ripe with jealousy,
full of potential,
pointed and round and just
waiting
for the next blackout,
the next full moment.
Anything,
anything to get past this transitory stage,
this horned semicolon
in the vastness of the sky.
2.
Coin
to pay the daylight’s debt.
A lover’s pillow becomes her prey;
she twists stray hairs to knots between her vengeful fingers,
long-reaching and envious.
A silver scorned mistress
with a memory like the bone-thin blade she carries.
3.
The moon is tossing clouds out of the sky–
tonight, she is a nudist.
4.
She mourns, she moans,
she laughs and shines,
and nothing escapes her–
not the ache in her chest,
not the song in her throat,
not the lithe, sinewy slide
of a cat’s back,
not the rain making water veins
in the glass,
not soft, feeding priests
nor birthings
nor cypress
nor any tiny death–
nothing
but the hidden caverns
in the earth
and the alien depths
of the vain, proud sea.
5.
All day I have waited for her silence.
Comforting sister–
doesn’t pretend to answer prayers,
simply
listens.
6.
Who lives in the cold little room of her heart?
Who hangs no pictures, sings no songs,
and keeps her house as tidy as a turtle?
Dark-lit girl upon a baseball diamond
sheds her wings,
becomes a nun.
Who does not wish to be
a daughter of the long-limbed moon?
