Love in Moonlight
Lunation makes clear the growth—
I wait, impatient for the sign of your body,
like some dumb stimaga, a holy sign from Bethelem,
to appear, grandly, in the wake of all this suffering.
There is what is left here. My fallen crisis—
I push myself out into the world. I don’t miss myself anymore. I eat the pale
moon. I suffer the moon in the morning & late afternoon.
I’m liking what I see. A small vision of you, plastering your image near.
I wait for your arrival.
I dance the dance of the wild. I let it slip into the blood.
Something grows thin, the light eagerly pushing its way through—
It makes known the bully of you, the soft way you say baby.
O, how I pray to the way my body feels next to your supple voice.
O, I pray to whatever gods to let me heal myself on your wound.
O, wound. O, battered heart. O, monster healing in the dark corner.
