Moon, Unrest Milk, Shine Younger Over Newly-Assigned Seasons

[jeff harrison]

the anatomy of that shepherdess
has been found a clench of words
by those born under the Lyre,
you who altered maids' cruelty into silver
who insisted lichens on headstones
came up mightier than clouds, mightier even
than foam 'pon boat-beaming seas, lay aside
your mourns lapping commended damsels
go to clamoring the Moon's Sleep we sighted never
where the dead, stitched inside white raiment once
sported by the finest elegists, pour, thunderous as
dust, white vintages -- but none whiter than
their bones, Moon, could you entice, Moon, sleep-water
away from its plain edges into something more severing?


		
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