By Eloisa Griffiths
The moon cracks op’n her egg-white shell
Night breaks, and brother Day
Spills yolky morning sunrise all
Along horizon’s bounds
The sky floods countless untold hues
– A shattered lava lamp,
Ink spilled across a dawning page;
Night’s cloak of black erased.
Now Uriel ascends his zenith steps
To claim his throne
And watch the world from up on high
Rays cast on those below
Oh son of the morning! New-ris’n,
Or is it Apollo?
Within his burnished chariot
He beats his silv’ry twin
Who seeks a darker haunt to house
Her maiden’s twilit hunt
In shadows they remain for now
Till moonrise strikes Day down.
Day shakes off drops of moonstone dew
That his obverse employs
To lull the world to sleep come dusk,
The op’ning of his eyes
Is like the striking of a match;
Brings searing heat and light
Into night’s lonely-lamplight void,
Wakes earth from sleep’s embrace
Day paints sky’s realm cornflower blue
Hiding night’s stars from sight,
But deep in dusky Sylvan dells
Moon’s huntress bides her time.