Saturday, February 11, 2017
The moon grows full on desires, eats until it is round and fat and about to pop. Then it sits back to grow lean as a scythe before growing hungry again, coming after me with its light up there in the sharp crystal of a desert sky. How did I get so lucky to have its beauty swoop down to take scoops of longing out of my heart? Even in the safety of a bed, beneath a roof of thick beams, it finds me. I almost called 911 last night for the pain of it. Aye... The Muse is not yet done with me, thank God. She has all but sent me wandering the washes, awake under the cold night sky, a howling lunatic. She has taken her fill again and sets over the river running with snow melt. The day dawns. Exquisite. How can I carry the weight of this body, the repository drained of light?