My eye is a little scapegoat
running around on the moon,

which is rock face,
soft faced anchor of light.

I kneel and
my knees are bathed in light.

I swing and it keens
my tilt and move.

I gasp as its shine
shivers along the back of my hand.

That push-me pull-me angel
trails its fingers through the tide.

The tracts of darkness dissolve,
now ocean’s a box which opens.

Susan Taylor