These nights the moon visits with such alarming regularity
hangs taught on tensile wire gainst the nights dark scrim.
She follows wherever I go –
I am with, I am without you
I carry her when I come
Me and the strawberry June moon
the just-in-time solstice
her rose-blush hush haloed and perfect
what a bitch I must seem by contrast –
We have travelled so far,
another quarter tilt-a-whirl tea-cup on our solstice axis
The moon knows not; Cares little of this.
You call me Artemis. You call me Diana.
Goddess of the hunt – to you I track, I pursue.
You then, brother, the light to my dark
The sun to my moon?
Would you stand by as Orion raped me again?
Unloosed his star-spangled belt
while the hooded moon laughed and cracked a wry and crooked smile
or would you stand passively by, your mouth a perfect O.
Tell me dear.
I want to start a whispering in the universe, he said.
That deer we saw –
Her brown liquid eyes rippling with love and tears
saw what is and what is not
what could be but could not be
Still you believe I would track her scent
take her down with one swift blow of my well-directed arrow
pursue pursue pursue.
Would I force even you?
Tell me, what is sacred to me? To you?
Would you watch as I bathed again in your cool waters?
And what if you should meet me in my temple?
Surely this a wonder of the world - New York City, not Ephasus.
How thickly the visiting moon sits;
You call me Diana; You call me Artemis
I tell you then
If you truly believe
Lay yourself before me
I want to start a whispering in the universe. - Hans Koning, America Made Me, 1979