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Lunar Aspects

Janis Rapoport
From:   Upon Her Fluent Route. Hounslow, 1991


The moon is a sickle, anaemic harvester of light
The moon is a caterpillar, a cat's tail, an antler,
a bull's horn. It's the arch of a dog's back,
a celestial comma, an empty canoe paddled
across the dark. One side is a dimple in a dusty cheek,
the other's a scar shining from injury and hurt.
The moon is a cradle, and the last interstellar rock
set her quivering herself to sleep. Tossed out
of the cosmic water, the moon is a beach ball. Hecate
bounced her over to Diana who threw her back again.
The moon hunts the sun, sends cratering rays, feather-
rimmed filaments and ice. The moon is a flowering
tear in the curtains, prehistory's monacle. The moon
is both a nest and egg; it's a pearl on a woman's earlobe,
a necklace encircling her throat. It's a notch
in the white belt of night. The moon is Cinderella'a
pumpkin gliding along the loops of the galaxy, a buzz
in the ear of eternity. The aureole of the moon
is a hoop we all dance through as the harpist, singing
her last song, strings and restrings the sky.


Janis Rapoport's works copyright © to the author.


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