Look at the moon, she said.
Look at the moon, look at the moon.
The way it pastes itself onto that blanket of black
And stares with the whites of its eyes.

One big eye, bulging above,
Scrutinizing our species,
Asking me questions about Love
And other things I claim to understand.

Leave me alone, won't you?
Oh big, bulging moon of persistent
gazing insolence.

Does it speak?
Does it say: Look at the human,
Look at the tiny, tiny human.
Why does it stare at me
with those speculating specks of eyes?

I am dust, you are dust.
We are all dust, floating together.
Look at the moon or look at the human,
It is all the same.

To kiss the swollen moons
of your eyes,
The feathered locks
of your hair
Your staggering
heartbeat on my palm, trembling
as the planets still move.

To hold your worn hands
The rough skin
of old fingers that have traveled so far,
countries from this ground your heavy feet now grapple.

To follow with my fingertip
the creases months have carved
and wash your edging eyes.
To draw a tear from those
dried, paper-painted
pupils, black as the night sky.

Cover me up
Plaster my face with leaves
Cover my closed eyes
With two round roses
Smother me so I'm swimming in leaves and dirt.

It's in my bones
It's in my blood
My body leaks love.

I am a soft shell so
This is love
When you cover me up
With leaves
Protect me from the world
Put me to sleep
Rest my eyes under
Red roses
Smother me so I'm bathing  
In leaves and dirt
So my heart can be be still
and silent with the earth.

Who am I?
Who do you want me to be?
I'll paint my face, cover
every inch with layers of
new because old's no
good. Of course you'll
never know.

There's no truth, no
sound or smile escaping my shell
which could tell you anything
true.

Is anything real?
We'll dance in costumes of
silver and gold and
never know a thing.
I'll give you my name,
splatter some words.
on a page or in the air,
what's the difference?

What does it tell?
You'll take the stage for
an hour or so,
give me your name which
wasn't your choice and
I'll judge you for all
you allow me to know.

Year after year we'll
talk about our day.
I'll cry in your arms.
You'll  tell me something
you've never told
anyone before.
     You'll study my every
inch and I yours
and we'll give all that
we can offer
     but never
   all that we own.

We could spend centuries
together but our
ever-changing souls
will never, ever know
any truth
as we know
ourselves.

We are blind,
always.

It hurts
that you don't notice
me in my bluest blue dress.

It is brisk
       It is brisk
  You are cold
     and I am melting

before you I flush
to my reddest of red
like the lipstick
     I wear
for you
    
It is brisk
             It is brisk
      and still
You don't notice.

Blind to my blue and my red
Whilst I stare a your
    silver and gold
and before you I melt
    to ashes and coal

and still you don't notice.
   Still I am blue
and the sky droops down
       over me,
           not you.
You are shining
     You are shining

You are the stars
I am the void
    in which you hang

You thrive
    even when you die
I still see you

But you are blind
     to my blue and my red.

Still,
    you don't notice.

It hurts
    that you don't notice.

Summer is gone
and the moon is left hanging,
solitary in an untidy sky

Summer is gone
and the clouds beat the grass,
with a yawn, and a tearful sigh

Summer is gone,
and the trees wilt
their branches,
tender leaves fall,
drift, sweep,
crawl
onto clay-covered floor

Everything falls
after summertime

evenings are swallowed
by night
mornings sink deep
into light

the world is quiet,
and tired,
and sad

heat stained, sun drained
Autumn flies in heavy chains
So we ask: why?
Summer is gone

Winter reminds me of home
One which crumbles as I write
It is a home I forget and
remember with glimpses
of sunlight
Or children's laughter

Home I once knew as my own
It is a city of cold, a crunch
   of scattered leaves beneath
tiny careless feet sprinted, tip-toed
through the park leaving prints
   now long covered
A park of trees lined so tall,
   I craned my neck in awe
with bright blue eyes
  like glistening bulbs
But those trees are smaller now
  for I have grown

It is the chill I
  remember, wind
biting my skin
  as I whimpered
desperate for a fire

It is snow-drop memories and
pink plump faces
   which grew to shapely bones
and knowing smiles

It is a smaller time
  lodged in my heart,
hardened
  with the brisk
November air.

future is vast expanse of confusing
unknown romanticised nonsense

past is like the dead
we still feel it but it's not there
it fades with clown-like indecency
mocking our misfortune at it turns
and waves goodbye

present is spent in other realms
except the rare flicker
where mind and body reunite
like old friends long missed

intangible, consistent, inconsistent
nonsense is the cruel ticking of time

there is nothing we can hold
in a moment and own
It all escapes us
like helium baloons tugging
from the tiny sticky hands of
small children
floating into the blue sky
never seen again as every moon
and sunrise
although we forget