Liquid

I.

In the witching hour

moonlight skates over the gentle pond

touches the weeping man at the bank

swirls through algae, over sleeping fish

down to the water's heart.

The heart beats—

once, twice—

and a shape emerges

blinking midnight eyes

tossing back hair, dark as oily tadpoles

floating at the surface meniscus.

Arms, breasts, toes are birthed, steaming

into the cold night air.

She draws the man, unresisting,

to her newborn body.

With midnight magic he is healed.

She is riven in two.

When the stars fade,

the man disappears

into the glowing haze of sky

unfolding over the mountains—sunrise.

He has been reborn, free of sorrow.

His loafers leave imprints like question marks

in the soft mud of the bank

but the pain of light drives her back

into the cool waters.

II.

Night returns the moon

from behind the trees

with the taste of freedom.

She steps out from the water

and walks under the shadows

losing her mother through blackened branches.

A deer raises its head as she passes

and its moon-eyes are kin.

It bows its head back to the grass

so little does she disturb

the wildness of its heart.

The trees fall back—

a spear of light

accelerates from the mountain's edge

and another strike of light

and another.

Soon the horizon is glowing

in shades of flesh—

it tastes like fear

on her tongue.

Come, urges the earth

beneath her feet.

Her hands are spades

scrabbling in the dirt.

Hurry.

She covers herself with dirt and grasses

closes her eyes.

Sleeping, a terrible heat seeks her

reaching out its fingers

plucking at her newborn skin.

III.

Coolness returns to shadows.

She rises from the earth

like a night-blooming flower.

Open space presses down

stars flicker and weave into rich patterns

like the shifting glow of the pond’s surface.

She feels the draw of her birthplace

far behind her now.

Time flows away

until horror returns

reflected across the sky

in streamers of light.

The earth swallows her, greedy.

Although her eyes are closed

she is melting down again

drip by drip

from the hunger of the sun.

IV.

When the stars call her to come out

she dances and laughs.

Grasses brush her breasts, her arms, her thighs.

It is the fourth night.

The time of change.

In drunken wonder

she has forgotten

herself, her footsteps, the call she follows.

She has become now.

She dances to the music of the crickets

and tree frogs serenade her.

The night sings softly in defeat

as it fades away.

Pink bleeds into the sky

but her fear goes untasted—

it is no longer real

no longer a shade

held between the two of them.

The sun rises...

It pierces through her

in a glorious ecstasy of pain.

She feels her new lover

filling her with the power of his form

a burning heat spreading out

from the center of her body.

She wraps her arms around him

and throws back her head.

The sun rises...

She remembers love

and loss

as shafts of light move through her.

The sun rises...

...She lets go.

V.

Moonlight touches

the waters of a pond—

a girl cries on the edge of the bank.

The white light swirls down

to the heart of the waters

and drips through liquid

like cold fire.

Once, twice—

a sound echoes

through the witching hour.

A heart beats.