Do not dream of swallowing the sickle moon.
No matter how golden, how cream-rich.
It will split open your ribs
and take your heart.

The rain fell [tonight,] difuse.
Mothers will cry, thin leaking tears
to water the city.

The warded moon, with its grey crown
promises that your loved one lies
and you will open the door to trouble in the morning.

Jupiter’s satellites are dice [tonight.]
For you, they reveal your husband’s slow-beating heart.
Know it has only three chambers. He will not last.

Why ask me these questions,
when you know I will answer?

---

from The Floating City