à minuit

the boney moon, dragged by hibiscus over the red hills.
Your moth wings baby-rattling the drowning of the stars, the symmetry of our skeletons for asylum; the moon, she finds my darkness by the Katsura leaves. The atramental vagary of her lays in my hands.

psithurism, algedonic to the death strokes when she flutters, how she rises to meet me. I tire to the maniac violets, their ribs exposed in each idiot feather; oh, in their last breaths, does the moon ever glisten? Barefooted to broken glass, the moon cuts my hands as we dance;

she dies a bit more
leave-taking in winter’s breast strokes
drowning in grief.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a haibun that uses the word “moon.”

46 thoughts on “à minuit”

    1. Thank you, Björn, so much. I find the moon to be fragile in its likeness. But, it’s still strong in the darkness; that’s the beauty of it, I think.

      That’s a good point about lunacy and the moon. By night, things can change and perhaps there is more honesty in the darkness as one delves into their own lunacies, especially as they can worsen.

      This is a theory of course, but I’m more or less referring to “The Tell-Tale Heart” as you got me pondering about the moon and lunacy connections.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. A stunning haibun, Lucy, which is so fragile, with the boney moon, the ‘moth wings baby-rattling’, the symmetry of skeletons and the exposed ribs of maniac violets. Your moon is a dangerous one if it cuts hands when dancing. The haiku is so full of sadness and I love the phrase ‘leave-taking in winter’s breast strokes’.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Lucy another masterpiece! How I would love to send some time in your head and think your thoughts. Your use of langauge is so colorful and makes me read your work again and again. Loved the ‘bony moon’ and this line was wonderful ‘I tire to the maniac violets, their ribs exposed in each idiot feather;’ ☺️💕

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I love how you coax the reader into the dance of your thoughts, no matter how fraught with tension and foreboding from the first words, so chilling. The moths, the baby-rattling, the death strokes, the broken glass that cuts your hands as you inscribe the moon’s “atramental vagaries.” Rich and bears repeated readings 💛

    Liked by 1 person

  4. The moon and the poem’s narrator swimming together in grief. Full of rich, dark imagery. I particularly like the simplicity of the haiku, and the wordplay (intentional or not) of leave-taking, as winter takes hold.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. You write from a dark place, and your excellent verbosity mantles much of the sadness. I read your poems aloud. I did not look up the vocabulary,, but I like how many of the new words sounded and felt in my mouth.

    Liked by 1 person

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