a
slightly maternal wind pulls the water along itself, grabbing it gently by the
hand and saying “Come with me please, we won’t be long”
either
to detention
or redemption
and it makes me cry
to see the lighthouse creatures
so busy at work each and every night
replacing 1,000 watt lightbulbs, neglecting 1,000 watt moonlight
and they have warts now, those never used to be there
moon bumps
the practitioner won’t even examine them
dogs won’t even lick them
and people kick them
when their demands for light aren’t met
still, they live with a scar
a moon scar
because the moon has a tendency to pull at the heart
and that causes waves
fast enough to hurt you
if
you’re not balanced
and turn ships into firewood
rippling the fabric of time
like a frustrated kitten in a curtain
and tore the velvet
into a dress
that looks beautiful
but wonders where the naked people are
and like the water in the hands of the wind,
you found your path
..and what you meant to mean
working
with the lighthouse creatures (let’s be honest, freaks)
and
when your stomach growled
they
gave you spoiled seaweeds
freshly spoiled
you
wolfed them down
voraciously ignoring the moon scars
For now