To weave through alleys the moonbeam
Must act as light was never meant to
Moving in slow spirals, cultivating a taste
For music played subtly out of tune.
It must ignore silver and pretend
Its pulse quickens at the sight of gold
(Where did it acquire a pulse let alone
One that could plausibly quicken?
Must it have blood too then, and veins
And arteries to hold its blood and then
A body to hide veins and arteries and all?
It must.) Learn to swagger and sway, walking
With exaggerated care after long nights spent
Drinking down by the docks until two dim moons
Shake their heads and ask why you've not found
A certain scatter of unblessed bones.
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