Goddess Moon

Without work, without rest,
I linger years from home.
A flash warning:
and it is not the weather
and it is not an omen.
Maybe, it is, a little,
both have been
stormy and enveloping.
The humidity plays with
my bare leaking veins,
the sun washes everything
except the stickiest thought,
a memory-picture hurled against
rain and screeching wind,
which it meets bowing,
with a violence bordering
on holy consecration.
I have gotten here, from there.
I go to the store named after a bird,
for coffee and a quiet conversation
that the heavy air will carry
for a long time to come.
There is so much poetry in a life.
Why don’t we all write about it,
And sing poem songs?
Arms dangle over the picnic bench,
back aches from letting love in.
I need to take me back to the river,
where the other half is waiting.
I will find myself there,
forget about everything
for awhile, and half-swim,
half float to the white
tower under the moon that once
witnessed my life transitions.
More than change
More than movement,
my heart longs to fly.
I will borrow scissors
so I can cut all the fear away.
It will take all night,
Crafting freedom from dreams
and I’m scared of
the moon as a witness.
I want her to capture
me as a goddess,
and make me a flowing robe
from her light.

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Editor: Travis May

Photos: Author’s own