Aftermath

inconvenienced by his grief, the moon broke apart,
her shell scattering through space,
unconscious, she sheds shards,
shrunken satellites orbiting worlds old and new.

things stir in the new dark,
unnamed and unseen,
slithering through the shadows;
fishtails swish, cut swathes
through oil-laden waters. limbs,
newly minted, grow, gather strength.
the weak, asleep and unaware,
succumb to the hunger of the strong,
unwilling conspirators to a future crime
unpursued. no officer, pad in hand,
to challenge the survivors. no officer
looks askew, wonders at the armour,
wonders at the smell of fear in the air and, suddenly decisive,
walks away. the moon's delicate core,
unprotected by a fragmented hull,
observes; her shine dulls.

the dark grows darker.

the things, so many in number,
whisper to each other in the blackness,
their hoarse, dirty voices slithering from ear to ear,
laughter hissing across the surface of her existence.
every word is felt,
digested and spat back out,
over and over.
the loop is inescapable or,
perhaps it is her,
too weak to break a cycle
that breaks upon her.

the darkness harbours too many ghosts,
and her weary heart weighs her down. she sinks,
drops beyond the horizon; still,
all that is left of her bears witness.

on the earth below, one woman stands,
fist raised to the sky, and howls;
in the dark of her shadow,
monsters quail.