Goat's Delight
The yellowed moon hangs low,
a pendant swung from night's cold neck,
blind platinum stare bent
blinkless on the baleful earth
where simpering dawn is frozen in
pink slippers on the hill.
Last night the bloodglow of the sun
gave false fire to the anorexic trees,
scarlet-purpled sheets of light
burning hope to killed music,
all that once was dancing
turned ash on a shifting wind.
Only the goat-woman is left,
the greyed-out girl
covered in indigo roadmaps traced
by her traveling heart, denim-fade eyes
croned to clouds,
still raking coals ablazewith the crooked stick of memory
wild in her wavering hand, feral
as a goat indiscriminately devouring
all the broken cities of the years,
following a random hunger
up to this winter hill
where she sits remembering
how to be free;
a prisoner on the edge
of her skinwalking escape.
January 2026
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Images : Moonrise, 1884 ©Stanislaw Malinowski Fair Use
Soulmates ©Kseizycolica Fair Use
