The ground appears
to have been
bathed, in milk — liquid light
coming down, in buckets
from her,
moon.
Lovely,
she does that.
Really only
once a month,
if
she reveals herself.
I went for a walk this morning,
without any clothes.
And this pissed off a heron, who squawked and honked off, over the water…gliding away, I could hear the wings,
imagining the moisture, rippling from her.
Like a bracelet of sound, beneath…
I lit some candles at the cairns and came back in, skin bristling with cold.
Exquisite exposures, to sense.
+
—
Decatur Island