Lunar Calendar, Eric Pankey

The moon is a midwife, who delivers a bundle of salt.

The moon sheds a spring-fed light, white as the limestone
in Galena, Illinois.

The moon is a knuckle gashed to the bone.

The moon rescinds its blessing, rests its forehead on a crosier
of walrus ivory.

The moon is magnetite, a precipitate of iron and oxygen.

The moon is a june-bug larva.

The moon snags the train of its wedding dress in the blackberry

The moon is the underbelly of a mole: lame, hobbled, all maw.

The moon inhales the cloy of opium, exhales gypsum dust.

The moon is a geode, a glacial erratic, a sinkhole.

The moon is a window opaque with reflection.

The moon, fluent in every tongue, remains mum.


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