madwoman

i.
every night, there would be an ounce of starlight
that splatters over the hills,
but below the willow armada.
how much of it wets my cheekbones?

i had not known i was crying.


ii.
my eyes caught your dark sprawl on the rocks
below,
limbs blooming like the moon,
fingers slithering like eels.

but nothing caught you on your remarkable (wind)fall,
a wild display of manic exuberance,
pulsing faintly.


iii.
madwoman,
madwoman,
madwoman,
was it simply that you were a tired survivor of the world in stitches,
or was it simply a loose cord?