Your Continuing Tides

Your Continuing Tides

Even a dawn cup of tea
is subject to the moon's
gravitational power;
you observe the tide
turn-turning at midnight
in that last mixed drink;
you can feel her sway,
as you make your way
out of the quieting bar,
a few smiling waves,
carrying you to the street,
as the keys to your car
siren-sing in your hand,
and at the sedan's door,
you look up at the moon,
a blade paring the night,
and reach up to touch her,
to share your warmth;
you pull back, cut,
and watch the blood well
on each of the fingertips
of your now keyless hand;
the keys lie on the pavement,
silent, stark, dead metal;
you retrieve them,
pocket them,
pull out your phone,
and look at the moon blade,
as you nurse your fingers,
and thank her for the wounds,
for your continuing tides.

----