Guillotine Moon
The moon cuts constant
even as her yellow face
sizzles off electric wind to
spade-black void,
digging
the dark day's
shadows.
No wandering
in mist or star's orison
takes me far from loss.
No color seems to belong
to empty steam.
The last rain
bent my back like a bow,
mocking the horns of
her pale cipher smile; the moon
knows me better than you.
Our mirror solitude
overflows with light,
her cratered face
the teacher, her absence a gift
of sapphire night, the pill of
her roundness a febrifuge
for folly's cache of nightmare. In
this moon-blade guillotine
no one sees, I
have placed
the eyeless head
of all my desires.
May/August 2020
posted for earthweal's weekly
challenge, Strange Worlds
Images: Moon and Trees, artist unknown Fair Use
Memory, 1938, © Rene Magritte Fair Use
