Selene

Selene

She knew the colors
I had left in me, things
unscraped from the dark sides
of mind, carefully
extracted each and looked,
with cold fingers on my
casualties — a disc

the color of cream arises.
Some Selene, some bright thing
saved for winter, for maternity.
A silence weaned on midnights,
violence of geese flocking
that flee, they flee.

Young as birth, round as fear,
white as the loss of identity,
slow like wishes
bright as night can be.

Bare in the light, the colors seep
to a star-dotted sea.

Glow and shadow all that’s left
of me.

Shadow and glow a broken me or a
we.