We lie naked  

Underneath its glow 

In several forms of desire 

From waxing to waning, rising 

Silver, blue, and crescent 

---

That calm face of night 

We claim as eternal muse  

And use  

As fire for the poetic 

Invented expressions of scraps 

Scratches, sounds, and shapes 

Stories, paintings, and prayers for rain 

Which hide deep within a lush memory 

Of temperate evergreens and desert oasis 

Quenching the mechanical intuitive 

Steps 

That move towards charcoal and ash 

---

Fast 

---

Via the eyeless sun, the harsh gardener 

Who pierces through our ghost canopy 

Wishing to reclaim its spent dust 

Thinking only of its collection 

Of cold baubles of gravity 

---

Still we cling to the saliva in our cheeks 

Dipping our glass 

Into the infinite spring, myth or otherwise 

Making love to the hope 

Of touching one another 

---

Yet, we are but the moon. 

---

And we look with full face 

When the clouds 

And spin of our life does not 

Hide 

The stars, which frantically 

Try to tell us truths 

Through all time and all our own times 

That have already been