The moon bleeds blue, snagged in a yew
across the field, and all along
this midnight walk, a blackness rides
astride your shoulders, spurs your back.
The stars’ teeth shred the drifting clouds,
you smell the musk of earth, then hear
the scraping of vast tumblers in
the cosmic lock: hot rain cascades.
Bright silver tassels dance before
your eyes, you’re blinded to your day-
time life, you slough its skin: a crow
unfolds from overhead and feeds.
A river’s sucking at your ankles,
rising fast. A woman beckons,
currents lapping at her hips.
A vortex glows within her belly,
spreads its tentacles to you.
She takes your head between her breasts,
you dive, entwined, deep into burning
depths—yes, never to return.
PALE LADY OF THE NIGHT
Her shroud’s a rotted
Her pelvis nestles
Cloud or owl,
wraith or scythe—
most every night,
an omen slices
through the moon,
to mirror scissor kisses.
Breasts press spells
against you, cold
as mausoleum domes.
Dewed thighs smash hard
as alabaster slabs.
This lust will outlast
Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review https://thebigwindowsreview.com/ at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. His poems have appeared recently in Rune Bear, Panoply, and Hunnybee. Tom's website: https://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/
Photograph by Thomas Zimmerman, taken at the Glasgow Necropolis in 2006.