The third quarter of the white orbiting Moon
reflects the Sun's light onto the wet and sad
bayou. I'm thinking of the stars, a myriad
of lights suspended, the dawn brings a maroon
tint to the sky. The birds sense the monsoon
and protect their nests from the sting of bad
winds and rains. It's like the animals read
the sky and know the time, know what is noon
and what is midnight. I calculate the wane
and wax of moons, I measure out how I feel
depending upon her faces. The whirling hurricane
moves over the ocean, I press the wax that seals
the letter shut. Her bare skin is as profane
as the nude Moon above revolving in a wheel.
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