Well after midnight at the Oasis

Matariki full moon’s Liquid. Falls through an open window Floodlighting a date palm on my bathroom floor Honest moon: She takes no credit for the reflected glory of her liege – the Sun Mistress moon: always hides her dark side Yet, this night, no-one argues with her bright open faced certainly Be careful who you accuse of wrong-doing She is but the mirror to your questions Your longing. Your insecurity Who can you see in her fine cratered features but yourself? Gazing back in wide eyed lunar wonder This night Barefoot soft padded down a Persian carpeted hall Mother moon: has awakened the younger leaves With droplet prospect promises of what greatness will rise tomorrow morning Like the itching anticipation of desert rain – just enough to whet but never to slake. Exposed, spilt, singleminded quenching a thirst emerging from months of dry-mouth sand circled wandering Perhaps you, the constantly regret-laden journalist, are jealous of the way the sweet palms new leaves wide splayed fingers drink so trustingly at the Moonlit oasis’s one-of-many wells relieved and spent bathed in her everyeilding fullbodied nakedness Fearless Moon Green tendrils have no thought of knives as their fine-stemmed fragile backs are turned to you’re a.m. watch Oblivious to what lurks in the night’s blindness Drink up little ones, and suckle while you still can