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The Moon is Always in Transit

The moon is always in transit
Becoming the center of some pale universe
A jewel descending, revolving,
Whispering motion across the coal-dark sky
Amid a smattering of close and distant stars,
tugging with conviction at the enclosed sea
of the human body.

The moon is always in transit
Turning different faces, like Janus,
Always arriving with
poetic words and inordinate shadows.
Departing with the wash of morning.
Damning with faint praises, faint outlines
of a tranquil horizon.

The moon is always in transit
curving, lithe and restless,
Soft and round as a world
Of sensuous flesh and wickedness.
Proffering scent and sensibility,
bewitched by flowing lines of force that
trump the insignificant male brain
with visions of envelopment and bliss.

It is the act of being moonstruck
As if there were no other orb
Worthy of attention in this universe
No satellite qualified to receive
The yearning adoration broadcast
Through spirals of night connecting
Always connecting to la bella luna,
Even as she drifts in and out of reach,
of focus, of substance
Back to the eternal azure canopy
In the infinite act of discovering ...
That the moon is always in transit.