Midnight's bright pendant.
Sometimes a scimitar.
But tonight, pregnant
from a full drink of
the sun's golden rays.
A spill of silver
beams on the windows:
unearthly, moon-crazy.
The motion of tides.
Blood through the veins.
Softly, dimly glowing.
Gradually filling
the depths of the iris.
How easy to drown in
the darkness, the night.
You chill the marrow.
You flood the eyes. Moon,
half the world's submerged
under your wide-eyed
glare, your fluid light.
