moon

at long last the sea retreats to her placidness
revealing the sky in lucid streams,
the dreams of raindrops stop momentarily,
not with rainbows, but a silver eye,
lidless, fixed in a slow crawl across the night.

this moon is a cold fire, a frozen sun
staring from a dark cave,
it is a magnetic mirror attracting memories
of platinum intensity, reflecting
tears without salt, blood bled of iron.

she is the midwife of the night
and sister to the sea, she is the tender of this garden
of small hours, the eye of the owl,
the fire of artemis when apollo sleeps,
yet she also speaks through coyotes.

never can i rest when the moon is out hunting,
extinguishing the sparks from distant stars,
she comes dressed in blazing ice, suspended
glaciers, and declares an evening tide
pulling me out to my deep sea.

i am approaching the fullness she cups
in her luminous hands offering me remembrance,
the blood of forgotten grapes distilled
into these currents of surrender spilling over
onto sullen cheeks wet with her kiss.