100 Proof Moonshine

by Cassie

Last night,
the moon consumed me;
as soon as it began its descent
up over the horizon,
creeping in small, bright degrees
through and above the treeline,
I could feel it:
a tingling under my tongue,
my blood an electric choir,
singing out towards the sky.
I kept sneaking out
into the night,
small moments of stolen meditation,
standing on the back porch steps
looking straight up
into some kind of epiphany,
one that curls up in the womb,
the birth of an oracle.
All across the yard,
a tangle of trees
stretched winter-thin fingers
towards me,
moonshadows like magnets,
my bare feet freezing cold
but there were wolves
running wild across my wide open heart
and the pounding of heavy hoofbeats
in my pulse
and my skin smelled like nectar stars.
My breath hung on the air in front of me,
each exhalation
a momentary frozen fossil,
each inhalation
100 proof moonshine,
burning its way down
into my belly,
a cauldron of waking dreams
and half-remembered lives,
punch drunk on the
sheer possibility of
occupying that particular
pattern of atoms under
that particular pattern of
an infinity of me
sprawled across the sky,
fingertips tracing the sweet face
of the full wolf moon.