Lunar Union: A Poem

Lunar Union

I expect an eclipse of moon
to be a kind of dilation,
corona blaze of blue iris
flaring out from the pupil-
depths of midnight sky
cast, in its center, suddenly
to shadow by coy sunlight.
I expect a god, his gaze
past the austerity of bare trees,
sharp eyelashes against the pale
cheek of hill, and the thrill
of being strewn across
the slender landscape by his
casual devastation. I expect
dizziness. I expect winter
to collapse into blossoms
of infinity, of warm rain.
Instead, I lose circulation
in my limbs, waiting still
for the dull red skin of eclipse
to creep across the moonlight,
the inside of an eyelid.
We blink away stars, myself
and the moon, a slow reunion
of celestials, once familiar.
We expand. I expect it to
take forever, and it does.

This post is part of the 7th Annual Brigid Poetry Festival.