Waxfires freckle
beneath a bloodburn birthsky.
Mother superior of a darker art,
you hang amidst a crisis of witches.
You turn, woman—
the tides. Overnight
you slowdrag silent
across the feral eyeless.
One retinal prick
from your reflection leaves me
agape. You blazing
relocation, you wet socket
waiting—you etherize everywhere.
You leave no evidence, no trace. No
nostalgic keepsake.
When the blueblack cats
come scratching out, I know you
don’t want to be seen.
Nude above a beach, shy
in the middle of your cycle,
you barely crack
a smile. You let ‘em stutter
through dark—let the world
get to miss you.
Waning
in your crescent nest, deftly
inconspicuous, you halo straighteye
through the dull
grey electrostatic strati
that slide between us.
You keep your kittens close,
your rogue notes closer.
None can turn a frown like you,
baby mama to the world, no one makes the night
less menacing. In a lost vernacular
you scat Remember, but when I blink
you’ve shrunk. Then,
when sun—rise—
I forget.
