MONTHS are mature, the moon comes, I pluck you, with a doubtful hand and an abundance of anxiety. Night is ripe, night comes.

Moon hungry, wild moon. You make me a bat, take out. I am from the blind stone cave, hunting you. Night hungry, wild night.

The moon is sharp, the moon is deep. I'm a diver fisherman, long sharpening. Spear, on you I shut my eyes-wounded. Night sharp, deep night.