A reflection on his rippled crest
The Moon lays lightly
down upon his chest
she answers him
Paris, on the Jersey shore
distance like Helene lore
Will your ship sail to her then?
Harrowing Hectors have
sent their horses before
and she'll have no more.

he is an ocean
still
silent blue
passion, like undercurrents
striking him through
she would sail over him, in her craft
fragile like a paper boat
a waxen heart temple
afloat
to catch currents in her shafts

her siren call is piercing shrill
the ocean then bends to her will
and then, in waves
as oceans do
it saturates and wets her through
and if cleansed, then stripped
bare and bathed in moonlight kiss...
if she hides it is because
she wanes in waxing love
and to give her silver light
she must appear at night

spin
coptering fall
a nocturnal dance
in poem's thrall
Look up! she sees him now
he wants to catch the moon, somehow
she hides in the sun
when night is done
but she kisses his face at night
kisses it with Lunar light

the curve of her crescent
heavy
present.
in his hands he can sense
the moon has no defense.