The Slow Moon page image


By Elizabeth Cox
The Southern Review, 2007

Your hands resist the open groaning sound
A weave undone, then keenly pulled apart
Each warp and woof so carefully unwound
Open up the straw, the tender fleshy heart.
The handle bridged by hands superbly bent
A brighter rim of sunset's scarlet thread
The angel's song so quickly turns lament
And blessings fall from suffered grace unsaid.
Sweeter than earth this bolder God unweaving
Reeds bound up in steaming light accrued
On ponds, or streams, or paradise deceiving
All the changing shapes by human mind pursued.

A rim of shore can keep its shape until the morning tide
Has kissed the window of escape, astonishing the eye.