The sun fell steeply
That warm summer evening
For the thunder moon.

For the sloping curve
That cut black void and white stars,
And bled free her light.

For gouges notched
By lovers held too closely,
Too foolish to run.

For fine lines carving
Old wounds into valleys
And choking heights.

For a glow that drew
Her image into the sea
And harts’ pupils.

The sun drew clouds close,
Doused her own blinding glare
For just one minute more.