Wind colors the spaces between
stars, swirling down to the hills,
tugging sky to the still village.

Warm lamps try to out-glow
their celestial ancestors, but homes
box in the light, square it off

while stars sing of wild freedom
and the moon lures the green
earth above the village geometry.

I would stand outside that village,
behind the moon-lured earth,
tendrils of my hair like the liquid

branches, carried to the stars
by the wind, mad as the moon;
I, mad because I have to fold in

my hair to the angular light boxes,
sharp against my rebellious
curves that reach and blow like Her.

[Marjorie Jensen is a writer, bibliophile, dancer, & yoga teacher currently living in California’s Mojave Desert. She edited Arcana: the Tarot Poetry Anthology and taught tarot poetry & fiction workshops at U.C. Berkeley. You can find her on Instagram @poetdancerwitch ]