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Astraea Ascends

Krista Canterbury Adams

Now I have given up my light
over & over again. I have stepped to
this balcony’s rolling stark edge
& uttered harsh words, hard incantations
with twirl of tongue & guile.

Discouraged,
I have sought the siege of menaces,
standing aloft these stone steps.

Bare of foot
I look darkly through drip of raindrops
& doubt the quiet of the cold,
wet silver aspen leaves.

I am suspicious
of the moon, quite beset
with her sudden shifts,
her slow risings. The palms of my hands
drain like withered leaves
in her white moonlight.

What have I done? Restore to me
my holy breath & quiet light.
Summon me with the brush of your tongue,
for I require fire to rise again.

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