Supermoon II

After Beltane
in days meant
for inspiration,
I walk through seafoam
or is it the devil’s porridge?

In a clearing of compassion
the sun backlights
pewter in the clouds
and I know I can’t
be pulled down
like the buddleia cones
in the rain so
I let the trees teach me
to stand my ground
crush stones
blunt thorns
how and when they come
and I wash my bones clean
in a milk lit pond
holding May’s
moon of flowers.