SELENOPHILE

I saw something

in the cold- pressed night

the moon was a young egg

caught in the grin of a fox

perched between a bite

breaking yellow

the whisper slithered over knuckled tree roots

cracking like seared fat

my hair stood wire-taut

the flinch was violent

I saw something in the dark

It didn't move like me

It didn't reflect the moon like me

when it opened its mouth

the sound of my voice

trembled across its tongue

and pushed the scream back into my chest