lunar eye

sometimes i can see in the dark

where no strand of moonlight
escapes the tangled trees’ grasp
i collect that handed over by blank palms

i step into olive green houses
i wear new, clicking shoes
i climb staircases creaking
and within sleepers’
eyewhites open and are pressed against

blackened air. i sleep in a bed
warm with chalk-white skin
and three-dimensional light let in,
a third dimension all my own,
uncovered, the spiral finally
uncurling that hidden from the light.

uncut, the stillness vibrates
and i am glad for the sleep

i reach out to
read your goosebumps like braille
instead meet the throbbing, lowest
heart. where the light
makes a secret of all but flesh,
white as a moon.