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An ode to lunar cycles and the madness they inspire |
Phases Underneath an aged, old moon, a wolf bays low tonight Swelling, bloated, slow... we swoon, in spectral lupine light Howling for snow to fall, for darkness to descend There's hunger in the crescent's call, it takes us in the end March, it saps as daylight burns, the sun will have it's reign, waiting for the worm to turn, … the crow to fly again Drifting into April's space, like fools, fish in long grass In the pink... a year of grace, a third of it now passed with seeds forgotten months ago, interred in time, forgot A flower born, begins to grow, spilt milk in tiered plots Lost amidst strawberry springs, hot summers, native... rose Indian, gifts briefly sing, forbidden fruit strong, grows In such forests, rivers fold, with velvet on the horn The buck will spring as thunder rolls in winter's wake, we're born Spawned toned green and torn downstream, from roe, such sturgeon thrive, with caviar a distant dream, against the grain... we strive Where wheat is set for harvest soon, fruit sewed and reaped in sight, with barley heard 'neath silver moons, the corn is full tonight Taxing under dying runes, for hunters travels, reaped Waxing over waning moons for harvests we can keep Stored and salvaged, dry in dams, kept safe in current climbs A beaver with a heart that spans, like spirits, souls and minds Flames that gather in the cold, eclipsing where we stand Blood moons, long nights, red and bold … an umbral wolf in hand |