By Lazarus Barnhill
At dark I saw the moon and thought of you:
her circle, full dripping ivory light, so possessed
the night that the brightest worlds wore timid
And when the rising tide, excited, my bareness caressed—
both pushing and pulling at once—again I thought of you. And when, among the limbs by
breeze made limber, the fleeting brush of musk
I thought of you, and heard your whisper in
So, sound and sight and scent and touch,
in memories—clear and sweet—though not
in my embrace.
And no remembrance, despite how endearingly pleasant,
Can fill the longing it creates or take your place.
My moon, my ocean, musk and forest true,
Be here in my arms and cease this remembering of you.