A WormHaus on Walpurgisnacht

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The Moon Is Full

The moon is full
But you are empty.
Cold and distant
Are the eyes that
Once gazed with
Warmth and approval
At this now sullen face.

Dizzy rats fall up stairs
Where you comb your hair
Near underwear, long
Overdue at the laundry.

Weathered cement, cold
And gray, crumbling,
Littered with the small
Purple bodies of berries
From trees unconcerned
With the reckless heels
Of hard leather boots.

Kiss the rim of brown bottles.
Caress the channel changer
Remote stations warn of storm
But they cannot save you.