Aoudads are enormous, proud, and graceful animals.
The largest have sweeping beards from chest to hoof,
thick horns curling behind them,
and a critical goaty gaze
which sees you from its perch
high in the desert rocks
and seems to say, “what low thing
squints up at my grandeur?”
Their strength prevails in a climate
where lesser breeds wither.
Every image on the net
is one of these proud ruminant gods,
dwarfing a human at their side,
held aloft by the horns
by a smiling hunter.
Something there is about a god
which drives mankind to kill it.
We suffer nothing to live above us.
The moon dangles low in the sky
Pendulous and swollen with yin
She pours yellow light over the people
Blessing them, affecting them
The night is pregnant with her influence
I am unsettled yet productive
The cat, especially susceptible, is yowling
And by the time I get to bed
Which I have cleaned obsessively
I have three perfect scratches on my breast
From tangling with his derangement.
The night is full
The moon is young
Tomorrow is Friday
And what will the people do
Under the powerful influence
Of such a moon?
Will they drink their sad
Will they fight their anger
Will they see their fear
Will they fall in love.
The stars have joined her company.
Orion draws his bow
The Pleiades cluster shyly behind him
And the moon loves them all
She loves night best
But vacates her seat from time to time
Stepping into day, disregarding order.
She had tea with the sun just yesterday
A nudge to remind him there are other, subtler gods.
Tonight she glows with his bright memory.
Goddess of her kind
Delicately explores her space
Eight times over.
Meddle in her schemes
And risk her wrath.
When she is still
She is a pebble.
When she moves
Gravity is her plaything.
A small jewel
Tread lightly ye mortals
Pray you do not draw her focus
Seeing the arachnid queen is an honor
You may survive her beauty
Only if she favors you.