Long nights lying awake, this lump of uncertainty
Lodged under my heart.
Watching the moon sail across a clouded sea
Of stars. Pockmarked silver crone heedlessly waning.
Me, a beached swollen gourd endlessly waxing.
Now I come howling through this silent night.
Matching the wind, wailing outside the window
leaving telegraph poles and trees upturned in its wake.
I am tide washed, savage – blood-stained and triumphant.
Here he is finally
Blue-crumpled goblin mouthing secret obscenities.
Bawling, reaching out starfish hands to haul back his briny ocean.
Raging, gasping with indignant fury
arching back to strike a fisted blow
To my brow. He is a crumpled moth wing unfurling
Under the fiery heat of my regard.
My spring heeled stranger. Carving out his own space.