A smile of pearly glare
clouds my skied direction
in a new reflection of myself.
I try not to stare
too long, but the details
distract my willing passions—
indulge in true mortal fashion,
crushing the scales
that weigh my intent.
Wild drums beat me crazy
into rhythmic silence and hazy
waves are bent
and straightened once again,
while my objective companions
fall helpless into eroding canyons
of good deed and sin.
Though beautiful the sights,
my desires remain restrained,
caught in tides violently ordained
and bound in fights
determined by themselves,
eclipsing the moon they love.
And like the moth to light,
the sun is their suicidal motive
for flight.