Shadow Sister
Thomas Zimmerman

I lie here curled in fire: the child who's me
entwined so tightly in my arms my veins
are pulsing, gold as ghostly cosmic rains
that soak the ovulating moon. Then she

appears--her hairpins, knife-hilts glittery
with blood that oozes from her wounds, that stains
her blonde hair black--and plucks me out, restrains
the child, and eats it so I cannot flee.

We dance till lightning enters her, a bolt
that shimmers down her throat, that quickens in
her hips, an ecstasy that nearly kills me.

The wings of night unfold; the old stars molt.
She cries translucent tears that beard her chin:
I eat these, and a darkling power fills me.

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