Look

Asleep in the trees, I feel my fingers itch from palm to tip, but dream swelled eyes resist the open air. I hold the netherworlds and blindly smile and scratch, until I stop: the itch remains.

Sleep undone, I spring the lids and there she is, madonna moon, a silver shimmering sheen. Hanging baskets join the boughs to rock this pearl, this tiny apparition.

I the witness scan my expectations, troll for means to hold Antigone’s desire before she flees. But now my pride is vanquished by a smile. I the pawn of fate. Here the sojourn ends. There my insignificance is told. A transient beauty noticed by the gods I am the moon and she in me.

Linger in the madness of the place before the goddess hides her face beyond the clouds. With silent, steady hand release her now.

Release her now.

Painting Edouard Manet, White Peonies