Lament for the Moon

I pray to the pale face of the Moon
Whom I’d scorned
Bathed in white
Circling, lost in night —
Let me cower, let me swoon
Let me fall prey to this room
Bathed in silence
Taut and still tonight.
In you, fellow lioness
I’d seen a sliver dying light
A trace of divinity
In the quietest flight
Beating in your breast
Where I longed to rest —
In Fox, a goddess dressed
With silver feathered Owl
Pale like snow, like cream
Had I lost the dream
Of your hair like spider’s silk
Catching the sun in beads of gold
Like your eyes
Caught the waves of the roiling sea.
Lioness, my Moon
Beautiful fire dancer
I envied your skin illuminated gold
Under the flame
You knew but never tamed
And danced, and swayed —
I envied your muscle as it moved
Inside the night lit bright
I saw you prowl
I saw you prance
In awe, I watched you dance
Though envy green did bloom
A longing in my throat
Where I called into that darkened room
Your treasure, I, the beast
Did long for more.
From the Fox I’d thieved
Quiet, slight, unknowing
A whisper in my lung, my mind
A wonder on the wrong I’d done
The Fox in rusted gray
Who moved through the night – not prey
Until I saw her, strode her way
A serpent in a paradise
We’d both seen in our starry eyes —
A dancer, yes
I’d seen you dance at night.
At night I’d seen you dance
Wings spread wide, an Owl
Bathed in silver starry light
Your feathers, they are gold
Flickering fire
Forgive me, I am never bold
But here, I dare
Perched beside your treasure, to stare
And watch you take flight
I long to join – to spread my wings
To fly —

Though as I tried I heard your shattered cry
The Owl’s howl which tears the night
I’d fall, I’d fall
If only just to catch you, if at all.
I weep at the foot
Of the towering Ash tree
My tears, salt upon the earth
From whence you came, first
Crowned by oak, wreathed in thorn
It was you I longed for, no mere thing
Or extension by which I’d cling
But you, as you are —
So I’ll sob your name
My quiet refrain
While I pray
Pray to the pale face of the Moon
Whom I’d scorned
A flutter in the leaves
Where I tended my injuries —
Your scar upon my shoulder
Thus, still, I’d quietly murder
The goddess in your eyes.

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