The Machinery Second Edition | Page 29

Be what you would be alone, raised in darkness and in moonglow. Inhale the dark powder of moondust, let your veins purple with moonburn. Imagine simple violence, the way a moonfall crashes to the horizon. Know the moonlove, that you are loved like flame loves kindling. She is impossible without you. We look up, mooneyed and moonbound, fix her silver face with our needling attention. We are dreaming her to life. You are moonbloodied; moonblooded— prophet, lover, beaten child of a moon we all invented. 29