Cate Peebles

Blue Moon Ouroboros

Better tend
the torn
things the ten thousand
relentless
latitudes longing

from tip to
top flips a teetering earth
around & tells
& tears & morphs

& mends our
times with tackled
sorrows as they
filter through gorgon
hair that
makes the air
hover
then reward

its own shape-
shifting with a garden
this once & wasn’t
what you thought
until an ocean
appeared inside
the river where
rising a tilted
squall overcomes
the road you
run across

your muscles twitch
and flex
enough to stumble
long enough
to recreate

their coils & unspool
the simple din
of ending days

needing to rest
a break between
one death
& the next the ringing
peals in flexed coils
spread out from

a single note so take your
time though there’s none
left there’s none
left but what
happens over & over