"All good things are wild and free." -Thoreau.

You, split apart the moon
and danced out of her
Your tongue tempted
rain from the earth

Instead, the sky
opened and forty days
of coming home, drowned you
out of range of ear

And heart.
The moon never mended--
its halves like marble
cast onto the ground, dark

One half, with shadowed ice.
The other, with blood
like rusted want in October.
The leaves had just begun

To change over
into the color of your hair
and because I had gone out
to mourn the moon, you scattered

Into dark, and left me tame.

07/27/2005

Posted on 07/27/2005
Copyright © 2025 Angela Cotterman