The moon is dead
            Look at it above
            us decomposing like the sun

            It is dying on your pale skin
            in your eyes and on your teeth
            It is dying on your fingernails cold and fresh as juniper

            I want to be sixteen again and coming in your hand

            We lie on the damp earth there
            never was any fire

            all our clothes have come undone

            A white moth great and terrible
            above us wicked
            our eyes to close

Copyright © Janaka Stucky, 2006. All Rights Reserved.