a journal of fantastical poetry

The Year in Moons

by Vajra Chandrasekera

For the old hunger crow moons
I lay fallow, dreaming of you with my eyes open.
I woke in the moons of wolf seed milk
smelling the pulses of your blood:
the quick hammer of your heart,
the slow toll of your womb.
In the hare hot flower moons I watched you
under hay thunder, grain lightning.

In this blue moon, I hide behind you,
I turn when you turn. 
                              I fit my shape
into the place you can never see in mirrors.
When the corn blood moons harvest
I'll bite your nape, soft like the wind
as a lover. I'll eat you slow, and grow fat
for the ill frost.
In the moon of winter's oak,
I'll take your scent before I lay me down again.

May 1st, 2013

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