I: Per Lunam

My brow
is creased
by the disquiet,
my head is bowed
by the amassment
of my hapless worry;
I've watered the soils
of my brown eyes and
never once reaped
a single sunflower.

The wind carries
back his ardent hands,
the two lover gulls returning
to nest along the cliffs of
my quivering mandible,
stilling the shake by
the feathered touch
of sempiternal wings.

Sit with me a while
until
we're only covered by
the blanket of our onyx sky;
tell me again that the moon is
a hole in the roof of the universe,
that her pale face is one forged
from far-off starlight
pouring out and
raining down
on this side of our earth.

Remind me of that
when I scale the mountains
of your broad shoulders
in search of a better perspective,
basking in the glow of her
heavy circumstance.