Dark Loon

Sagely wing dipping in the thick
soup, cutting quick through the molasses fog
—kingfisher naught, she is
a dark
loon.

Midnight-speak, an easy shift of
garbled calls and
smooth song, ricocheting as dragonflies
upon the embankment
that she be descending from as a shadow
to the lake.

Footless, she meets
the iron mirror swollen Luna is hungry to pierce;
an inclination to set down and fell herself
over the mystery
of a warping world. A dagger
to a silver-lit chest—

a sudden dive,
a moment glint her appearance
is a knife; murk lashes under beams and
a rising,
thrill of having caught
a creature
our moon longs for. A smell of cold, heaves.

Shrill laugh,
a boat, a bastion of life above the womb
of night water so she
glides; unhampered by my gazing eyes,
my gaping mouth she
moves on. I linger at the mark, the shimmering upon the pool. Hypnotized by the imprint I cannot bear myself to leave the shone.

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