The sunset oblique
A Glint of glass
Frail grandmother clock
Her hours throb
By the flow of her blood
And the caress of the moon
Forest full circled, fish netted knee
Nymph locks run free
She locks herself up in a tower
On a hill before sunrise
Before morning sorrow tips her over
Paint chipping on a rocking horse
A cold fireplace
And the window of Wonder
Lying in the dust in the evening song
To inhale the stars
Wakeful dreaming, her own heartbeat
The silk on her skin gathers grime
Pine fading rose water tinge
Water rushing through the sky
The moon slits string beams
And from those, she sews
Her eyes laugh, her soul escapes
But the girl keeps sewing beams with her laughing eyes
Her lips gently parted, she swallows every sweet star in the sky
Her eyes glowing in twilight’s psyche
Lusty cellar spirits creep from the underground
Log bodied eyes popping arms that reach from their ghost white gowns
Bidding for that dusty silk dress
The girl nods absently
And the shivering wind grip her bare skin
As she sews the moon threads into pale glow
The threads grow thin and they hum a melancholy lullaby
The kind that only a celestial being would know how to compose.
Then the girl loses her breath, her sense of touch
The dress is finished
Nipping her eyes the dress slips upon her
Like a crescendo of recollection.
The cellar spirits dance in the underground.
The sunrise paints her searing morning demise
The girl is in the moon
The moon is in her womb.
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