Mark the Moon May

Bitter end of a new moon.
Consider the sun.
Tug on the thread of delay,
a way in which lunar phases
attain fulfillment, a curving
crescent the sideways horns
of a bull piercing the sky.

Ground the earth in emerald
poppies, then pop the sparks
into the sky, sense the Hyades
cluster—stubborn Taraen, V-
shaped hands of a compass
pointed towards the ends of
earth, a westward approach

of rain, embedded in a golden
core of solar residue. Determine
the month of May to be more
fixed than the verb, that you may,
focused on establishing distance
through possibility, reorientation,

season of risk, spiritual
pauses—Stuff me full
moon mouth so I may ride
the lunar tip of your tongue,
close to the point where you,
May, might turn me into an
ocean of milk, light.


2 thoughts on “Mark the Moon May

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