Because every story (must have) a beginning
and every soul (is but) amalgamation
of half-remembered truths—
                                                       Once Upon a Time…

An idea became a (dark) dream became the (shadow) of a man
and when the man deigned to sleep, the night shuddered and released its breath,
one shaky exhalation that chased the pale circumference of the moon’s breasts
and everyone found listening
heard the shadow (almost) say
                                                              it is good. 

And the moon’s eyes fluttered in feverish anticipation
(the stars, alone, watching the clouds twist in her hands)
and the sound that escaped her lips was more than guttural

and when she languorously slipped
one silken foot across the roof
and gooseflesh of the other

the crickets, below, faltered
                                                    seeing themselves undone
and the cows hid their faces
                                                    behind lonesome trees

and nobody (else) lowed
for fear their voices

might be heard

or worse—