Outside, the branches flutter in the breeze
Giving the winter moon a delicate
Exoskeleton. Like fruit in a crate
Nailed shut, like pulp fibres after you squeeze
Out juice for the nth time, like a disease
That locks your body into a stalemate—
Outside the branches,

The dancing bones of the moon, I appease
Night with flakes of pain, watch darkness dictate
How earth spoons sadness onto the moon’s plate,
Trains the moon to shrink and spin as we please—
Outside the branches.