Belewe Moon
by Taylor Roberts
At night, a
whisper, soft against the breeze
in subtle winter, combing her white wreathes,
did rouse the muse and sudden beckoning
positioned me beneath your fecund moon.
When out among the daffodils, you there,
unbridled in your limitless field, called
all impatient paper whites, wait not
for the last frost to break and bloom!
I sought you like a new-formed hyacinth
burrowing my way through root and rock,
though no more capable were my weak limbs
than those periwinkle petals, still I climbed
Out of the graveyard of my buried hearts--
there a piece, a war wound, a soft death--
I scaled past every failure, shaming each
with the audacity of my ascent.
in subtle winter, combing her white wreathes,
did rouse the muse and sudden beckoning
positioned me beneath your fecund moon.
When out among the daffodils, you there,
unbridled in your limitless field, called
all impatient paper whites, wait not
for the last frost to break and bloom!
I sought you like a new-formed hyacinth
burrowing my way through root and rock,
though no more capable were my weak limbs
than those periwinkle petals, still I climbed
Out of the graveyard of my buried hearts--
there a piece, a war wound, a soft death--
I scaled past every failure, shaming each
with the audacity of my ascent.
And up and up, I clambered to your call,
with rain sending me running for what looked
like sanctuary, from afar, those hills
earthen breasts breathing under your belewe moon.
And it, and you, together captured me,
my heart a soft sandbar in rising tide,
and coaxed me deep into the cool dream of
your body, your sea-green eyes, those bombshells.
When all along my soul had crept unseen
among the hushed minefields of love; that moon
arrested me, doe-still and sudden snap!
the clap-trap shock, betrayed me to your gaze.
