is a galaxy
filled with gas lamps,
beating hearts
and freshly-plucked
pomegranates,
forever on the cusp
of releasing
the syrup
within their seeds.
In the night,
one might score
the ripest
like a poem
into quarters,
if only to luxuriate
in the rip of its pith
or, say, pierce
its potential
with the incisors,
ground down
from years of gnashing,
so as to allow the jaw
to provide the force.
Were morning to come,
the cobbles
would remain stained
with the intensity
of our aspirations,
yours and mine,
and we couldn’t help
but to beg the Buddha
to spin the wheel
one more time, like
the carousel girls
who have more
tickets than pockets
and live, in spite
of punishment,
to simply enjoy
the thrill of the ride.
Kelly Moyer is an accomplished poet, photographer and fiber artist, who pursues her muse through the cobbled streets of New Orleans’s French Quarter as well as the mountains of North Carolina. Hushpuppy, her collection of short-form poetry, was released last year by Nun Prophet Press. Notecards containing a few of her most popular images are available at www.etsy.com/shop/theunfazedmoon.