Oh moon, I could breathe you into my body, soft crush
of dark flowers, late hour alchemy of dew-damp soil.
Oh moon, like a rich ripe vowel resting against the roof
of my mouth, utter me into the rush and rinse of the wind.
Late night wind that charges the blood. Blood art.
Blood fuel. Oh moon, moon like a moan, you roll down
my spine, my arms and legs moon-sodden, heavy
with shadow. Be with me like a low organ note,
vibrating in the deep drone of my oh body, a counter-
pitch to the brass alarms of each day. Oh moon,
your lantern is lodged in my ribcage, blazing full-bloom.
You pull me by trickle and flood. I lift like a fish
in the moon-inscribed tide. I rise. Oh moon. I rise.