Moon stalks me as I wander
darkening rooms. I shrug shoulders
out of bra, shirt, leave a trail, shed
skins behind. That silver eye finds a view
no matter how small the drapes’ gap.

I cannot hide,
go outside, to embrace
this glowing goddess instead.

Sparkles glisten, blackness,
dewed grasses between my toes.
Fools me. June fireflies but, no,
just that determined voyeur. Her face
faceted into a thousand gleaming jewels
that wink against my ankle skin
and die.

Image: Diana’s Shadow (C) Rachael Z. Ikins
Mixed media, foil and tissue with poured acrylics and the screech owl in pastels

Rachael Ikins is a 2016/18 Pushcart, 2013/18 CNY Book Award, 2018 Independent Book Award winner, & 2019 Vinnie Ream & Faulkner poetry finalist.  She is author/illustrator of 9 books in multiple genres. She lives by a lake with her dogs, cats, salt water fish, a garden that feeds her through winter and riotous houseplants with a room of their own. Dragons fly by.