I rouse outside to whisper grievances and search
for a loving moon, but resist inclination to feast on it tonight:
my eyes squeeze tight in denial, but ease into squint.
I do hunger, and perhaps will find it full and soft, easy to swallow,
not phased into a crescent rind: twin points ripe
with snags to choke me as before . . . another occasion when gnawed in regret.
Magnetic shadows lure steeled light, sop streetlamps' gilded arc.
I venture to sanctuaries of a starlit world. Appetite perks,
eager to disfigure all I once-worshiped whether
occasions or blessings, deliberate defacement of heaven and all her allies.
I suckle the moonless skyline's swirl-pink, dusk-brown,
night-gold, and imbibe shades of anything cold.
