Baying at the Moon

A muggy September day
Close and clammy like a secret uncovered
Yet broken with a shock, a jolt
As all the heaven’s pent-up frustration,
It’s potent fury, clashes and bangs
Together, squeezed into a release
Of swingeing torrents of elemental vengeance 

That night, an hour no more
After this Armageddon
The sun swatted below the horizon
By our racing rock’s twitching flight path
Clouds drift lazily,
C
atching their breath, collecting their wounded
Our moon beams through, brighter than ever
As if it’s just been buffed, polished
By whoever keeps shop up there

A hazy light, refracted, split, soft
Is the light that falls on me
Like moon dust – I can feel it
Raising my hackles
Twitching follicles
That imperceptible shudder
Of walking over a grave

I look up; I sense it’s calling
And in my mind’s eye
Pulsing through my lunar veins
I dream, of throwing back my head
And baying to the Moon
A primal howl – proof, if needs be
That I am no wolf
But a mere servant, an unwitting slave
Of these dancing rocks
That spin through space and time

Some look to the sea

Some look to the sea.
It’s in their bones, somehow;
Deep within, buried, innate –
In their very marrow, their blood,
Maybe not real, except to them –
Inexplicable, but there all the same.

Some look to the land.
Grains through their fingers
A brittle loam, dry, yet life packed,
A call – of the river bank, of the oak
A call – of the path, of the long grass
Silent, but there all the same.

Some look to the sea.
An iron rod, yanked by a magnet
The irresistible tug of the moon
On man or wolf, gentle, relentless
Unheard, undetectable
Unseen, but there all the same.

Some look to the land.
They feel it, heavy on their shoulders
Gravity weighing on them alone
No burden though – inescapable joy
Oneness, connection, shared beginnings
Unprovable, but there all the same.