Wild Imprints: A Prose-Poem
I’m seeking the moon
Gliding through the half-dark — a preternatural humidity caressing skin — like an unseen lover. Like a moth’s muffled flight through twilight — the hum and whir of my bicycle wheels — I’m seeking the moon — or hoping it finds me.
Jagged teeth of buildings gnash against the skyline — this city — lock-jawed in lockdown, holding me hostage for months, clamped tight on us all — finally risks a yawn — just wide enough for my eyes to catch a crescent moon rising — perhaps on this subtle steam of humidity —moon seeming to keep pace with me — my bicycle seat with a view.
Can I fill my tyres with helium — drifting upwards like a balloon to meet the moon — leaning into the curve of its amber aura — coasting the boundary between dark and light. Are these imaginings symptoms of lunacy — and as soon as I question the impossible — I fall — back to earth like Icarus, back into my body — the seductive night removing my coat — I’m a red streak red bike in the night — dreaming of meteors — fast, but lacking levity, trapped in gravity.
Selene is shy tonight — only revealing the burnished curve of thigh — or perhaps the glow, serene, of a smile under lowered veil — or the tease of a wink, beneath a kohl-shaded lid — her charms made more elusive with distance — she’s a mistress of mystery tonight — yet…
