OBSERVANCE

By Sarah Doyle

Night dances her Dance

of the Dead, darkens her

eyes with bold kohl, thinks

I Shadow, laughs privately.

Night is bone-bare, holds

out a finger for Moth to

still himself - but Moth,

electrified, craves only Moon.

Moon wears her Sunday best,

drapes mist over an exposed

shoulder, experiments with

gold highlights, and is pleased.

Moon feels her own fading,

becomes raggedy-fragile,

shying from the brassy Sun;

listens, bitterly, to birdsong.

*First published by Black Bough Poetry

#darkpoetsclub #shortlist