Anthony Hanible

Phases Of The Moon

First sliver

A blade hung high

Cutting the night

Into keep

And release

Waxing

A white wound

Opening wider

Spilling its light

Over everything

I tried to leave intact

Full

The moon a hard eye

Unblinking

Catching the truth

I kept trying

To outrun

Waning

The sky thins

And I thin with it

Shedding names

Rooms

Skins

Like old light

Dark

The moon disappears

And something in me

Goes with it

Not loss

But a clearing

A place for the next

Bright edge

To begin