bravest of us all

moon

you are the bravest of us all—

without the way you turn your

skirt of shade— cast by earth's shy lidded

eye—

I see, (would you were me) how full

in the face you take the sun

into your iris!  Our whole dome

is forest or sea,  dune or grass,

and wind and heat can bring it all

to its knees, and us, without cloud,

without slipping into another skin,

  we would die under it.  But you

moon

and your wide full eye, take it all on

without a sound, your Janus face

completely in and completely out.

And what we see depends on how

we’ve all been turned—coward coiled

under a slim banyan, or tibia thin

into the tide, that in time,

and if we stand still, will rise and rise

and rise and remind us what we once

were: steamed meat in the heat and sea,

hinge wide for the beak to strip it clean

until the inside script of the thin mothered

pearl, alone on your full night, is a palm

cupping water. It reflects you up to you.

moon

you are a light the glass pushes back,

like breath, back to the face who tilts

up for a kiss, who receives the lips

tight and true and timed, but trembling

while you are still in the burning ball

of the sun