Moon-Shaped Love

Sun or
moon wise,
praying her tears,
or smiling her bliss out
She’d be down on her knees,
curled fingers clenched in a fist
Ready to bathe her mind’s drafts
Into the loneliest dew-soaked  dusk
then let the ardours of her own heart
soar high to whisper and ripple about
how he’d learned to paint her poetry  
and carve marble, but failed  to find
a single song  in the world’s patter
to sing along with his own blood.
Then he sent summer words
and walked  in his garden
to sign  a new  promise
with a rose  thorn  
so sharp and
warm yet

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