I saw the Moon rehearse the act one night;
being an artist's clock is not a cakewalk-
to babysit their black minutes; to talk,
while they are at your breast, undoing white.
Nursing is no pleasure; you're but a muse-
they'll use your timelessness to satisfy
needs that stem from their perennial blues;
compulsions that consort them to the sky.
I saw the Moon evolve into a poem;
a man then shawled her in his old canvas.
And I saw him carry her to his home;
he nailed her to a wall by the cactus.
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