Amanda Gunn Bright Moon Bright
Bright moon, bright powder-colored moon
above my windows, bathed
in pools of starlight, moon above
the whole of Baltimore,
so bright that I mistake you for
the sun, the sun at dawn,
with chill and grasping hands that reach
inside my bed. You bright,
you flinty, frosty moon, release
me, let me free of you
and down into the sweet ravine
of sleep. Where is your shroud
of dusk, cold moon? Why do you light
my sins, my flickering dust?