Nine Ways of Shaping the Moon
Tilt your head and laugh
until the night bends
and I see only you.
Weave the wind into a song.
Rub its fabric over your skin.
For whom does it speak?
Remove all stars and streetlights.
Remove thought, remove voice.
Remove me. But do not remove yourself.
Tear the clouds into threads
and place them in layered circles.
Then breathe slowly into my ear.
Drink deeply. Raise your eyes to the brightness
above the cedars. Observe their motion
through the empty glass. Repeat.
Talk music to me. Talk conspiracies
and food and dogs and rain. Do this
under the wild night sky.
Harvest red pollen from the trees.
Cast it about the room
and look through the haze.
From the bed, gaze into the mirror.
The reflection you see is the darkness
absorbing your glow.
Fold the light around us, and listen.
You are the moon in whose waters
I would gladly drown.
First posted in October 2014, and again on Valentine’s Day in 2016, “Nine Ways of Shaping the Moon” also appears in my chapbook, If Your Matter Could Reform.