She ebbs like the white waning Moon in the branches

She ebbs like the white waning Moon in the branches
of a tall tree. The clouds are obscuring the face
of a patient satellite, she moves in a curved path
through the skies and signs. The elliptical motion

of Venus is curious, I see the motion of calves
as they divide the flowing water. I'm disoriented
by benefic planets. Her stomach is rising like
the tide in the gulf, her breath fills out the bay

of her chest. When air comes out it's shaped into
a song by her mouth, her fine and subtle self
impresses me like songs do. I have expressed

my diverse feeling in the ever-changing phases
of her light, the weeks and the months that make
years, and in the branches of the white waning Moon.