Sunday, August 19, 2012
We wrestle with a bright, shining night
Chafing the milky curve of the moon
And speak to stem the starlit tide
Blinding our tongues, whiting out our words
Under a glowing talcum cover of linen snow.
We are grappling with ourselves alone,
Embracing the empty, glaring moon
And holding back the living starlight
We curse instead as glittering chains
That pale, trembling hands are pulling taut
In our callow and cowering hearts.
Soft, clutching hands squeeze the night from me
Freeing me to ride the sweep of the moon
And inhale those waves of starlight
Falling on her fingers, pooling in her palms.