eat the moon
if i pull the moon apart in my hands
would its woven seams unravel and spill
lurid light, like the yolk of a swan’s egg,
crack and baptize my fingers in holy light?
or, perhaps, it would be delicious and hallowed,
as remnants of sweetened rice flour
coat my grit teeth and sallow face--
and the glass of its unpolished shell
slice my wretched heart apart.