blackbirdonline journalSpring 2010  Vol. 9  No. 1
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     I had been thinking of Gabriel,
     of the moon-cycle, of the moon shell

I am moonlight
pale under the bus stop
streetlight. A man in wing tips,
no pants, cups his hand
against my back
to light his Camel.
When he walks away,
his shirttails veil
what we must
not see. There are so many things
that will never happen
to me. This is not
one of them. A camel,
though, I will never ride
through any desert.
I will not be a horse
out to pasture; I will
never swim in water
con barracuda, piraña.
I will never swim with gold,
will never fly blind,
batlike, at dusk.
I am not moonlight.
I will never give
birth to a son.


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