The Sun Named Moon


Your name is divinity—eternal graven image

Of some dark god forgotten by man,

Forsaking any question why your journey began

You spin on the invisible rim of gravity, a presage

Of the oblivion that will return to swallow intention.



Your name is serenity—chasing the invisible tail

Of your own silent footsteps going before

And following behind; mountains of ocean gore

Spill on earth’s shore, staining the invisible trail

Of destruction left in your fearful rejection of stillness.



Your name is clarity—ever-shifting face

Of light tempered with darkness, an old broken

Mirror ever half-seen, half-unseen; the lesser token

Casts abroad its borrowed glow in place

Of greater light to strive against the stars.



Your name is purity—clothed in the snowy white

Of sinews, scars, and skin already bled

By stony missiles thrust into your cratered bed,

Who naked every night is led in the sight

Of the great horned owl and the laughing jackal.



Your name is eternity—the orb orbits the orb

Orbits the Orb in praise of infinite space

And sings with wild impunity while dancing in place,

“Never dream of the arc that will absorb

Your own, no matter how red its fires shine.”



Your name is fertility—a cold, colorless waste

Of marble dust and the namesake of monthly blood

Dried and pounded into chalk, filth, and black mud;

Womb of graven goddesses without a taste

Of air or the gentle touch of seeds in spring.



Your name is mystery—slender and coquettish darling

Of earth, whose flesh too fond of fondling eyes

Remains too cheap to sell without disguise,

That dwindling shade you clutch about the scarring

Of your frame betrays your bones to the sun’s flame.



Your name is lunacy—the pale fleshy flavor

Of your lidless eyes is slave to hollow tongues

And thankless lips; pouring into withered lungs

Your purest white kisses, you waste the favor

Of each lunar dawn that weeps over your horizon.



Your name is humanity—celestial oneness born

Of shattered terra, mangled and misshapen world

Perfect in form and symmetry: an infant curled

In the womb of space descends into the coming morn.

Of light and in light she sings and dreams that her name is—