The Lunar Tic

I wish not on a star but a crescent moon

For that same steady light that sears not inside

And silver swathes over over heartshaped looms

And fills dragon veins in boiling tides.


Artemis, patron sweet, I care not for the chase

Nor the chaste nor untempered nor all you possess

I admit since June I’ve felt an older embrace

Now I care but for the stone, and not heiress.


I shun your pillars, I am now just a girl

For Man cannot be pure. I submit to that doom

Since heaven tempts less than my unclean world

And I loved not a star, but a crescent moon.


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