the moon is not the mistress

The moon is not the mistress
of misconstrued desire
She is lonely sun flare firmly ricocheted
towards eyes of want
The moon is not the mistress
She is the mother of atavistic yearning
She pulls just soft enough
to remind us
Yes, it is night
Yet we see
Riparian cleft
where night winds blow
While we move as water
Clinging to the edge.