Once there was a Man who swallowed the moon leaving
dark drunk shadows to  crash out on the floor of earth’s forgotten day
Lights out, black against black, forms amalgamate, a pyramid of blur   

Golden light glowed through the pores of His skin
And lit the path He stumbled down

Moths and stick bugs gathered in His lamplight
He swatted them off of his brow
Soon, others ventured near
Owls, opossums, creatures from dreams

They all thought
He was their Mother Moon

They followed his light steps
Down streets of replays and dubs
Through the silent night
Trailing the smell of his breath
To the door of his timeless tomb

And by morning
Staggered back to their dens

In the East
The Man sat cross- legged on an Ice Age rock
His spine a spiraling spire
He placed one hand on his belly
The other on his heart
And listened

As the moon typed out a psalm

Jacqueline Moss is a descendant of Appalachian coal barons on one side of her family and coal miners on the other. She would rather pull folks out of a black hole than push them back down. Her career as an Early Childhood educator has taught her how to see like a child. She is a good listener. Trees, birds, mice, stars...everything talks to her. Poetry is the ball she brings to her play date with you.