Look to the New Moon

If you must hear      the story

of my turbulent gaze      after waking,

the march of my hours      to hermit

into a higher body,      it is that

whatever you put            into the Universe

eventually       returns.

In our oneness      of gift,

                     we are eyes together,

nerves together,         affected together.

If I’ve never      told you

how madly we share      in the stars,

how it was all      founded      for you,

then let the longing      for Arcturus

                     be the gilding      of our sleep.

I know      when your time      was in its

making,      I was left      to sing alone,

unfed      to trample through      a hundred

layers      of night      without a heart

                                   to hold my guard.

If I had known      all those     days

to listen deep   into myself      so that you

would begin      to hear      me,      I’d sooner

soak      the decibels      of      your cells

into  the exhale  of my      embrace.

            A scorning within       is within

                coming back      to scorn.

A rose quartz promise      lifted into

the world   is the world      coming back

                          to surrender      its love.

Even after      I took my health

into a vineyard      of hawks,

I could not break myself from caring

but only     to seek you,      find you,

            whisper into your palm:

you are not lost,      you won’t be lost.