swimming in the honey

full moonrises into purple ether
metallic shades of blue and magenta
the thanksgiving moon, or beaver moon
according to the almanac,
the season when traps are laid,
moon suspended above the valley's navel
like the pearl in the lotus, disembodied.
This arctic clarity, where heaven touches earth
and the cold blisters the skin like fire
The animal like intensity the urge to stay warm
and keep moving outside of the herd
nusing a hostile distrust of civilizations
I have my doubts about all that exists
outside of the boreal forest,
the cool blue ice that cradles my isolation
I am grateful for this life and like the hunted
constantly outrunning death--
my body is like a mosquito suspended in amber
engorged with wooly mammoth blood
My soul a dragon fly
swimming in the honey