My eye is a little scapegoat
running around on the moon
which is rock face,
soft face, anchor of light.
I kneel and
my knees are bathed in light.
I swing and it keens
my tilt and move.
I gasp as the shine
shivers along the back of my hand.
This push-me-pull-me angel
trails its fingers through the tide.
Tracts of darkness dissolve
now ocean’s a box which opens.
© Susan Taylor 2019
