Winter Moon II

A full moon sits heavy in the cold night,

mist shimmering around its curve weeping

icy dew drops on my freckly cheeks,

rushing over me like an Irish tide:

thunderous, rock splitting calamity.

Ducking inside, away from its strong pull,

I’m home in the lonely painted red room-

winter frozen, stirred by the warming glow

of the ghost light left burning to welcome

spirits that inhabit the deepest dusk.

Sleep comes quick as my head hits the pillow,

my dreams unsettled and full of panic

as lunar waves push love away from me,

daring me to chase it down and take it

before it’s ripped away and out to sea.

Sirens call for me to dive under and

swim around and through sandy silt and weed

that languish and fire across  in a play

of the cyclical connection that sea

and night sky’s pearl know to be magnetic.

Gulping air, swallowing salty water,

I reach for a rock slimy from the sea

and pull at a branch broken from its tree,

trying to beat the sharp ice’d current

to the safety of the dark rocky beach.

Awakened by the fury of the night,

I lie still in the wave of tossed blankets

left to wonder the outcome of the tale,

did I beat the winter moon's dark challenge,

is love close or has the tide pushed it out.

Note: I wrote another version of this poem almost two years ago. I have changed it some. I realize that it is a little heavy handed, but the moon, to me, is a very romantic figure. And its pull on me ... is very tragically romantic.