Swimming in the blue dust,
The moon butts a cloud with its horn.
This night, no one will guess
Why the herons screamed.
This night, she ran through the reeds
To the green backwater.
Her white hand swept her tousled hair
Over her tunic.
She ran up, glanced at the quick spring
And sat down on the stump in pain.
In her eyes, the daisies wilted
The way a swamp light goes out.
At dawn, through the spiraling fog,
She swam away and vanished in the distance...
And the moon, swimming in the blue dust,
Nodded to her from behind the hill.