The Moon and a Breeze
There is space around the moon
tonight, white, bright, lighting the night
like cardboard cut-outs on a half-dark stage.
"You are very beautiful,
tonight", he says, and the breeze kisses his cheek.
A blanket has fallen from the sky
and the sun has gone from his all-consuming
place, taking up the day with self-proclaimed brilliance:
light, heat, sweat, and the clarity of the colours of the beach
and its palm trees, sand and whitewashed lighthouse.
Unlike the sun, there is
space around the moon tonight
as she cruises warmly against
the dark background and cold, bright and
knife-like stars,
The lighthouse stands brilliantly white
against the sky, with the moist grass
under bare feet the salty smell of the ocean
envelopes, hugs, even cuddles
in the warm dark that has its own
fragile brilliance, like an egg
with the flesh sucked out
through a tiny hole in the pointy end,
leaving it vulnerable between gentle pink fingers.
The ocean is hardly visible over the hill,
but the rushing whoosh, whoosh, and sucking return
of the waves on the beach meet with
the warm, salty air, under the lonely moon,
placing a blanket around the shoulders,
the head, and even the ears and eyes that are pleasured
by the invisible ocean and the cardboard cut-out night.
They lay on the moist, cool grass
that hardly has a whisper
of dark green colour, under the moon.
They lay with heads together,
almost cheek to cheek,
and watch the stars rotate overhead,
watch the pilgrim clouds drift
across the face of the moon.
They whisper nothing, merely breathe,
and her scent mixes in the air,
sweet, complete, and they are as large
as the cosmos in the tiny space
between their eternal spirits.
They look in wonder, seeing that
there is space around the moon.
"You are very beautiful,
tonight", he says, and the breeze kisses their cheeks.
