Paksha

paksha dp175

moon wing floats overhead in the dark
of the lunar month
fish fin swims by beneath the water’s edge
in the moon’s bright tide
cow flank is a night feather against my shoulder
smelling of straw and chaff
party factions are armies’ phalanxes
still smoking in noisy backrooms
every proposition is an equation to be argued
by show-off peacocks spreading feathers
her hands articulate like wingbones
when she dances
an elephant will dance and cry when the moon’s
wings are clipped