Sunday, October 6, 2013

The Moon Nymph (A Poem)


When she enters,
Snow-booted footfalls
A rabbits’ whisper
Across the long-tail carpet
Of the campus library,
She spills the coffee of herself
All over the room
Like a stubborn stain.
Her eyes glide toward your table,
Quick as a cloud-swirl,
Then blink past you
Like a chance.
She moves like air
That blows surprisingly
Into a windowless room,
Clutching paintbrushes
To her chest
As if each bristle
Were made of hand-flesh.
Her walk is reminiscent
Of a swiftly-forgotten mission,
Hands fluttering
As if she’d just picked
A basketful of burning stars.
When she walks past you
She smells of smoke cinders
And pine wood, her hair
A nest to catch
The rattled needles
And lose leaves of
An unforgiving fall.
Her smile is as clever
As a secret language,
And when she speaks to you
Her words are as ripe and fleeting
As the hand-sweep
Of a dandelion dream.
You’d saw off your own hands
Just to capture her,
This nymph of another world.
You sing praises to the worship
Of her skin temple
As she dances naked against
The lusting fingers of the moon,
her body full of God.


  1. What some brilliant allusions here, a surfeit almost that demand to be read and re-read.

  2. This is so vivid and rich and when I thought of that nest of hair I actually thought of myself given that birds try to land in my hair even wild ones lol

  3. the way you talk about the coffee spill of herself.

  4. Some people are like that--one can never quite capture them. I feel it is a defense mechanism--in this way they keep themselves safe from connecting too much.

  5. This is so richly written. The images, like a basketful of burning stars'
    are vibrant and sensual.

  6. This is my third visit. I love this piece.

    1. thank you so much, im honored! so happy to have you here :)

  7. Beautifully composed, wonderful imagery.
    Anna :o]


Thank you for taking the time to comment, it is so appreciated. Your thoughts and critiques are always welcome! I will be by to visit your blog soon!