Moonchilde “Every angel is terrifying.” – Rainer Maria Rilke For a long time, this poem didn’t want to be born, like the childe we formed that night, who never saw the world, and was born a strange shower of blood as if he knew somehow that the universe would tremble and shatter if it tried too long to hold something shaped by that ecstasy, like holding ice, that seems so solid at first and then melts and slips through your fingers, like a star exploding until it collapses of its own weight and vanishes down to oblivion, time and space folding in on themselves, like the moon that night, one night short of full that would spill over the next night filling the sky with silver but then wane back down into darkness . . . You were terrifying in your feral beauty, riding me wild, calling sap from tree, water from stone, shifting shape into wolf woman and cougar, bringing me to throbbing explosion that I tried to cool and hold shaping it with strange incantations as you sat up above me, all shadows and moonlight and wetness, outside the river flowed at the foot of the slope, reminding us we too were water and would slip away.
That was simply incredible! Fantastic imagery shifts so smoothly from stanza to stanza, building as the story unfolds and maintaining almost mythic, ethereal vibe. Thanks for sharing this, truly an inspiring read! *applause* now that's the stuff poetry is made of!
