Via Negativa: New Moon

Why do I want the moon, which belongs
to you? Why do I drive against the foothills
like a maniac to moon hunt, when it’s gone
missing? I don’t understand
what’s happening to my physics. I might
need to live in a tent for a month, away
from streetlights and other blazes. I
might need a blade, need to cut
my hair and nails to slimmest crescents
and solve for white-pleated wings of moth,
sprung whole from phases, just to die
for light. You’ve packed up the not-
moon tonight, a hanging
promise: your light will come.
Go barefoot in the drought-powdered dirt.
Press hard against the hull
of cocoon. The strongest sit in the dust,
unknowing. The strongest
linger in the bind, wait
for faintest sliver,

seeds of beauty
In My Dreams I Call