Poyetry

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Moon Song






Moon Song


It is the killing time,
Just after the turn of the year.
The new moon hangs like an ivory horn,
Shockingly large, just over the treetops:
Creamy as butter
Yellow as beef tallow;
Memento of some
Beautiful, hieratic white heifer
Destined for a jealous god's altar.

The moon remembers,
The moon reminds us.

We don't recall,
We who dwell with
Electric lights and
Central heat and
Internet ports. And
We believe we are
Divorced from all the
Cruel realities that
Mired our grandcestors
In the mud and the blood of the past.

But my beast-body knows the truth.
It has no words
To speak its hard wisdom,
The bone-deep knowledge,
But it knows beyond all doubting
What that crescent moon is doing
In the dark sky.

Jan. 20-21, 2010
Image of the moon is courtesy of http://www.areavoices.com/astrobob/ from Bob King of Duluth, Minnesota.

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