Hungry Ghost Moon

A cold white saucer left outside our door
(we know it’s blood you drink), so brimmed full that
only the corner of your mouth appears.
Strange relative, we’ve paid our dues –
don’t visit us again this year. We’ll pour
wine generously: forget our names and we
will not forget to leave a saucer out.

Keep your ravenous eye hidden from us,
your gumless teeth, wine-stained with blood; the pin
behind your back, used once a night to needle
droplets from the paddock’s neck. Drink wine
instead of coming for our long summer nights:
forget your name and we will not forget
that you were taken from the world’s bright calm.



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