|
SEAN
DONAHUE
Photography
©2004
FRED
ELLIS
 Venus
hangs
high
of
waning
crescent
moon,
by
Beltane
it
will
dwindle
down
to
darkness,
not
the
absence
of
light,
but
the
full,
round
darkness
that
holds
seeds
of
shimmering
silver.
Aluna,
I
want
you
to
wash
over
me
moist
and
warm
and
dark,
I
want
you
to
lie
with
me
where
the
forest
grows
down
to
the
banks
of
the
Merrimack,
moonlight
filtering
through
the
branches,
casting
shadows
on
your
skin
that
I
trace
with
my
fingertips
while
the
remnants
of
rain
drip
from
the
trees
onto
our
bodies,
perfect
in
tender
incompletion.
I
saw
you
at
the
edge
of
time,
casting
bones
with
ghosts,
gambling
for
the
souls
behind
the
faces
you
saw
trapped
beneath
the
ice,
before
the
bones
fell
you
danced
across
the
sky,
leaving
a
trail
of
purple
light
behind
you
and
when
they
landed
the
ice
cracked
and
sang.
And
when
my
eyes
couldn't
see
that
shimmering
light
you
still
came
to
me
like
the
scent
of
a
wolf
in
heat
carried
by
the
wind
on
a
late
April
night
still
cold
enough
to
make
me
shudder,
and
I'm
just
a
coy-dog
who
listened
to
the
wolves
too
many
nights
and
keeps
trying
to
sing
a
song
outside
his
range,
but
tonight
you
come
in
close
and
sing
low
and
our
voices
mingle
and
shake
the
stars.
|