The Moon Erupting essence seeded, like seraphs, the earth and water rise from each layer in light’s filament; remembering dark, as I cross the ether, the busy tap of shadow-music gleaming. So passes the blue-black veil, checkering nights, a circle escapes claim: nature only whispers glimmers held in ceaseless night, a bride laced in moon-skirts, she holds all seeds wrapped tight.

• Mina Loy