The Moon XVIII

The first sphere of the heavens is the moon,
Where dwell the souls who failed in their vows.
They held a little back, and so held all,
For what is 'never' if it says 'unless'?
Eternally they orbit; back they fall
Each time they launch themselves into the sky.

* * *

A wolf and dog are howling at the moon,

The silent one who lights their paths of night.

She, solemn in her dour inconstancy,

Bestows the dew of life upon the fields,

But makes no answer. Rayless glows her face,

A mirror half obscured then half revealed.

Tonight her silver brilliance shining forth

Calls out the wolf with mighty heart and voice.

He raises up his face into the night

And paws at her with snarling, restless love.

"Dear one," she smiles, with chilling clarity,

Then hides her face. He runs toward the sun.

The faithful dog is wretched in his love,

For he is captive to her day and night,

In shadow and in radiance the same,

And in her absence, still he lays himself

Down at her feet, and waits for her return.

"Dear one," she smiles, and sets his heart aflame.

But what is crawling from the brooding sea,

Onto the pale shore with gritty steps?

What fearful, crusted beast has birthed itself?

What pink and tender flesh now shivers forth?

It basks a moment in that cold grey light,

Then gasps for breath and slips beneath the waves.