i fill a basin with moonlight
and carry it, brimming with magic,
to the tree i know so well.
a drop leaks from the hollow mouth,
trickles down my wrist and earthward.
i smell freshwater lilies and
the grass smiles in recognition.
i plunge a wooden paintbrush into the basin;
i feel a rush of thirst
as i raise it to the wrinkly bark and graze
the trunk with sundry strokes.
flooded with silver, my tree beams
into the darkness,
and my body quakes in craving.
i lift the bristles, silky as petals,
to my cheeks and anoint
my face in shivering ecstasy.
i deliver my lips to the cold metal rim;
an intoxicating chill creeps through me,
i feel the moonlight reaching, spreading its icy fingers
into all the crevices of my skin and bones and soul
and i am ablaze with passion as i embrace my tree,
its limbs tingling, my veins pulsing,
two heartbeats echoing the trembling stars,
our blood and sap mingling, blending,
until i am no longer sure
my torso is not a trunk and
that my roots may be only feet, or
that the tree and i are not
a reflection caught on the pond at twilight, or are we?
and we are the moon itself.
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