full bellied moon

what is mid autumn to you? 

dangle on the precipice low hanging bloom 

I, wasting away runny like the yolk like the 

Mooncake guts velvet on my tongue

balm on my soul and splits my lip

My grandmother wears red and her head 

lowers thread by thread low hanging bloom

 

yesterday I was cinder like

carry smoke and weight 

stained reflections in formed gutters 

now my face is the moon 

shucked off all its hard lines 

Let myself be round cheeked pockmark and smile

crowning here the crowning joy of it all 

can a motif be exhausted if it belongs to people, me, us?  

slat the beams where the rabbit princess dangles 

my grandfather seated next to her; home spun on waxy planes 

and today of all days i can see 

lucid clear are their eyes while mine glisten

dyed yellow in the low hanging bloom