on waning

full bellied moon
what is mid autumn to you? 
dangle on the precipice low hanging bloom 
I, wasting away runny like the yolk like the 
Mooncake guts velvet on my tongue
balm on my soul and splits my lip
My grandmother wears red and her head 
lowers thread by thread low hanging bloom

yesterday I was cinder like
carry smoke and weight 
stained reflections in formed gutters 
now my face is the moon 
shucked off all its hard lines 
Let myself be round cheeked pockmark and smile
crowning here the crowning joy of it all 
can a motif be exhausted if it belongs to people, me, us?  
slat the beams where the rabbit princess dangles 
my grandfather seated next to her; home spun on waxy planes 

and today of all days i can see 
lucid clear are their eyes while mine glisten
dyed yellow in the low hanging bloom