The moon has broken on the pavement,

wet as fish scales, empty as fish eyes,

rain riding the cracked light.


A helicopter scans the houses,

its voice rising.

Eyes in its belly swivel, hunt, flare

as it sways on stilts of light.

It drops to scavenge

on the splinters of the moon.


Lovers tangled in its stare,

burrow into each other.

She lifts the long nails of her left hand

stretching to the belly of the machine,

sees her fingerbones haloed by

keeping him from the light.


[Matter 2008]


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