WEBVTT

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Probably like Dick
Shelton, I not only

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have very strong feelings
about the desert,

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I have very strong
feelings about the moon.

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And I sometimes
feel sorry, almost,

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for the people who
read a lot of my poems

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because I think they
must think, doesn't she

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get tired about writing
about those two things?

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And they just keep cropping
up no matter what I do.

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So this is probably one of my
favorites about the moon called

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Luna Luna.

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I slice the moon quickly
for it tugs to slip away,

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to glide back on its beams.

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On nights white
with her fullness,

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I sit alone deep in the
desert, away from noisy lights.

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Hearing wise wind, lone owls,
until she hypnotizes me again

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and all is white blaze.

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My arms reach to her.

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My fingertips stretched
to draw her, draw her

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into my lap only for a moment
while I peel a pale host

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before she slides away.

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I slice the moist, sweet
flesh into slivers,

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store the glow in a cloth bag.

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I feed it to women
sad with their bodies.

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Some nights, I taste
La Luna myself,

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my lids shut as she drifts
through me, opens my eyes.

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