I will give you one glimpse
a glimpse of the moon's grievance
whose appearance is all pocks and points
that look like frost-glints
I will wave my hand to her
in her first quarter
when the whole world is against her
shadowy exposure of her centre
o the moon loves to wander
I will go clockwise and stare
when she is huge when she is half elsewhere
half naked, in struggle with the air
and growing rounder and rounder
a pert peering creature
I love her sidling and awkward
when she's not quite circular
o criminal and ingrown
skinned animal o moon
carrying inside yourself your own
death's head, your dark one
why do you chop yourself away
piece by piece, to that final trace
of an outline of ice
on a cupful of space?
No comments:
Post a Comment