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?