Light-dark

The Oracle gave me a strange selection of words today, that worked themselves into a poem not so strange after all. And of course, Odilon Redon had exactly the right illustration for it.

Light-dark

How could I be man,
hair dark as night
and cloaked in the shadows of my moon,
that tears a hole in the blackness, shines,

when I am full of fierce suns,
the eggshelled futures,
a brood waiting to spread their wings,
rise?

Yet when the moon rests,
retreats into the dark side of the sky,
his hands are gentle-dark
and sweep the shadows smooth,

make the music that becomes my song,
the painted earth that we fill together.