Reluctant Moon
A poem in phases
In the dim-lit murk of memory
where thoughts stick
like boots in the marsh mud,
I sink into an image of you,
under a full moon,
our first.
***
Seated cross-legged on the almost floor of the night temple,
almost because weeds pushing through the cracked soapstone
offered more flora than floor.
Two ruined walls remained standing, crumbling
No ceiling left for them to hold
Only the starless templed sky
***
You sang
off-key and with much enthusiasm
the melody long-since forgotten
but your feral face turned moon ward
remains in my brain, unwrinkled
***
While others chanted, you
and I, blasphemous, laughing, sneaked off into the dream green wood,
padded barefoot down the pulpous moss bank
knelt before a sacred tributary,
and pressing unholy lips to water,
