Moon Lust

I never thought I would choose to describe 

the moon’s allure, her soft presence

as a shard

But when I prance around my apartment 

in the evening glow

I can’t help but describe the illumes as 

splinters of light 

piercing past the veil of my double-pane  

leaving broad strokes of shimmer 

across my laminate floors

gently dusting over 

my unfinished kitchen table.

The moon, with her moments of brevity 

holds space for me 

for all of my fragments 

for all the forgotten broken glass

that’s been kicked to the dungeons

the unreachable corners 

under street-found shelving 

that dance in likeness between the contours

of pearlesque hues that spotlight all the abandoned pieces of me

I somber between the witching hour 

Tracing to-dos with each pace

Making mental note of which trafficked paths need swept

beneath the newfound clarity

of tomorrow’s solar haze

Sometimes I find myself 

staying abundantly hydrated 

filling glasses to the brim with cold water

just to haunt my own halls 

searching and waiting for that

which only the quiet solitude of a full moon

can sequester into meaning