I AM THE MOON
A frightful symmetry
Seen through the leaves of night trees
Just as the moon clears their confines.
I will tell you that this is only your grief
Speaking and that you do not desire death.
You will attempt to argue through drunkenness
And you will leave, sleep dressed as madness
Wraps your brain and stops the parade.
Suddenly the moon cracks open the night,
Filling it with its delicious light.
It plays with our imagination.
“I am the moon," it says. “I am the moon.”
Most things are without sense.
We make the most of what we have,
Drive ourselves to understand in broken
Cars, demanding the extra mile.
I hear you breathing, but it does not seem
To be a rest, rather, the trough of a wave,
The catching of the moon in a glass,
The surface of a great totally transformed.
THE HOME OF THE VAMPIRE
Of course it was a great pile,
I saw a small lawn with rows of cages, each
“I keep these for the various seasons,”
Occasionally he would explain
He announced to me as we climbed
These things here. They love black leaves,
Flash in great rooms lit by constant lightning
“I come here to pray and to recall the taste
Of lips. I have no time to think or eat properly
Or to rest. I keep beehives around the castle.
As I crested the hill
I found the moon asleep
In a small hollow, nestled
Just below the tops of a grove
Of oak trees. The moon was
To have been up an hour ago.
The light coming through the branches,
That quiet music the moon always makes.
Tonight your skin tasted like
Lime juice and orange blossoms.
I have moments like this where
Everything seems possible for an instant.
I wasn’t supposed to tell
You about the moon, but I had
To. I thought maybe you would
I know the exact place it was
Resting. I could hold you there.
We could pretend we have always
Known things like this.
We could sing a moon song.
THE MOON, ALARMED AT OUR DISCOURSE
Talking to me.
It all away from me.
As they touch my skin.
In my heart.
HEAVEN DARE NOT LOOK
Heaven dare not look too long
When soft, my darling, says the moon,
The stars, the whirling balls of stone
That are the planets, to their sleep.
For soft is the song that rises, clouding
Those towers that are praising in those
Fell halls full of angel wings and dawn.
Heaven dare not keep the night long
From around her shoulders where she
Wears it like the cloak it is and
Brings it to our bed, still full of stars
And singing, such shining is herself.
I gaze upon that which angels fear
May tear them from the face of God,
Even for a moment, such is my darling
In her sweet good-nights before we sleep.
There is nothing you
can see that is not a flower;
there is nothing you can think
that is not the moon.
Our thanks to D.R. Wagner for today’s poems and photos, all of which were previously posted in Medusa’s Kitchen. (D.R. was feeling poorly on Friday and needed time to recuperate.)
Head on down to Sac. Poetry Center tonight, 7pm, for the release of Strangeland by A.J. Thomas and Friends, hosted by Bill Gainer and Red Alice’s Poetry Emporium. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
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