Moon Nude

By David St. John

Anticipation is the soft cross
Upon which we hope to bare
Ourselves as we are borne
(“love”) into frenzy rapture resignation
& despair- the waiting (the waiting)
Of that massive wheel where a body of light

Breaks across those sculpted spokes of flesh
The turning (the turning)- the waiting…
Oh she knows he is coming she knows it
She knows he’ll be there in just a moment
She can almost hear the sound of his steps
As he makes his way up the narrow stairs
Carrying the gift he’s brought her the scarred
LP of “A Kind of Blue” the old Miles
He’d listen to night after night all of those
Lost months before they’d met
The music filling his skinny apartment
As he looked down upon the dark surface of
The river below & the spasm of milky blue
Reflecting there- that beacon calling
Like a single celestial body