The moon is ripe
for sound tonight, and I
am ready –
haunched and haunted,
undaunted by the fullness
of her smile. Tucked long
beneath this smoky sky, I
will beg my lungs to break
their slatted cage, and bay
my song. I know you’ve
known it all along, but I
am still rearranging its
syllables to suit my salt.

If I cannot find it in all this
ink and ebony spill, this tune
I know to be mine, then I
think I shall simply
swallow her whole,
…………..and shine.

Written for Poetic Asides.

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4 Responses to Howl

  1. Misky says:

    This is gorgeous. The internal rhyme fab!


  2. Oh my – how shiny and full you would be! Can you even imagine being the moon?
    Love the thing about the lungs. “Syllables to suit my salt” – just beautiful!

  3. Shawna says:

    I was picturing the “her” as your mermaid muse (instead of the moon). And if she doesn’t inspire you, then you’re just going to gobble her up whole and let her energy shine through you in your poems. Hee hee. 🙂

  4. Susan says:

    Gosh! Why didn’t I think of that? It is ripe . . .

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