A woman clothed with the sun, with the
moon under her feet. REVELATIONS 12:1
The skin I wear you weave
with the sun-spun warp of dawn
against horizon’s sloping weft.
I shuffle across the floor in loose
slippers of moon, slip into the day
you’ve made—you are piercing,
embroider me with veins, blue
of emptiness, red of long breaths
of air—set in a thin hem of night,
you leave the stars as they are.