Moons and oceans

And in an igneous winter
when flocks of birds hide upon evergreen branches
above a lake,
scent of pine drifting
across saddleback hills
a mind'll wander
to fishing,
role of a pike,
eyes gasping
over moonlit tent
and fireside,
harmonica song,
chords of the victor,
as if life is mainly moments
of bleached vulnerability
and rebirth,
'haps a videogame
where one plays the enemy
equipped with lesser weapons,
or some
indiscriminate extra
born solely for pain
and respawn
and again.
And as I watch
an obsidian sky
broken only
by a shifting seahorse Moon
who's still in love with you
waiting
for rumbling earth,
a crack,
spirits emerging from magma,
overlap one another
in an orgy of passion,
universal delight.
And I accept
what is
instead fumble
to the water,
cool my soul,
become a bottle
bobbing, widening,
fully charged
yet quietly bleak
and unfed.