I see
there are
no
MOON DANCERS
in this house
in this early morning white-noise light
to dance with me
among the liths
the slabs
cold pillars
new blooms shut tight
for the night
green cool blades
many words etched deep
in stone (aluminum some)
and etched out again
by rain, time, your fingers
and time
I want, only, my moving shadow
– yours too
Will you come?
Purple, cobalt, black
splattered over grass
folded over stone
wrapped around tree–
negative shape of me
of you
cut at the edges of my Self,your Self
by the moon
and words
some seen– framed and solid
weighted
Yours heard–lighter, moving, changing
forming art
framed by my head
my heart
the art of your voice
your words.
-Becky Hoffbauer
Holy Lament Member
