Mooncalf Poem by Leslie Philibert
Mooncalf
Stilts balanced by the fear of falling.
Afterbirth and straw.Inside out.
A mix of skin and string.
Pulled out like the tide,
a mess of purple tubes
and slime-life.
Your eyes as round as earths.
You try to eat the night air
then seek the primary. Milkmouth.
Born under a stone eye.
Special and disjointed.
You are not white enough
to be dry bone,
rather hopeless pearl
as the full moon sags.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 6:14:43 AM # 1.0.0.1119
