moon, tyrant of the sea, may the tides be her bedding
the witch-tongue her means to speak
& the umber-furl of pine’s spectral mist
her hair to tangle
unfathomable nightbirds shed
their tears of the Estranged
where voids ache in the empty air
come to me, the lilies spill
from the mouth of mourning
infinitely into every distance
I am changed
buried in the dark movements of beloved
the unwritten laws of water
shadow-bringing master, I took, and was taken,
I had to touch, and hold, all that was not mine
a hunger that did not belong to me
Selene,
I see your pale restlessness in a sky of thieves
you are like me,
gone, unsung, forgotten
made to wander over the sea
where the fine-boned wind breathes
hold me to my name, the kingdom of wheat
and the shore I belong to
press the old-woods to your lips and draw meals,
bleeding silver sideways into marshland,
the dark human waters of mother
already, I am part of you
the witch-tongue her means to speak
& the umber-furl of pine’s spectral mist
her hair to tangle
unfathomable nightbirds shed
their tears of the Estranged
where voids ache in the empty air
come to me, the lilies spill
from the mouth of mourning
infinitely into every distance
I am changed
buried in the dark movements of beloved
the unwritten laws of water
shadow-bringing master, I took, and was taken,
I had to touch, and hold, all that was not mine
a hunger that did not belong to me
Selene,
I see your pale restlessness in a sky of thieves
you are like me,
gone, unsung, forgotten
made to wander over the sea
where the fine-boned wind breathes
hold me to my name, the kingdom of wheat
and the shore I belong to
press the old-woods to your lips and draw meals,
bleeding silver sideways into marshland,
the dark human waters of mother
already, I am part of you
✱✱✱
| Eleanor Gray lives in California with her partner and cat, Puck. You can find her poetry in I-70, Cosmographia, Rising Phoenix and her personal blog, smakkabagms.tumblr.com. |
