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Today the moon

as a ghost:
now slivered,

white, the self
we all carry with us

as baggage
cold and heavy,

full of belongings
and longings

to be somewhere

or just to reflect
someone else

in our present
impending dearth,

to grow
and to fade

a night fully
without color,

dim light
in the bone somehow

opening the world
to its waves,

the man in us,
the woman

our healing,

ebb and flow
of the planetary plenum

of the one and only
body we have

bloodless before history,
silent against sunrise,

in its craters.



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