Limbs

Here, where words are waning
They move with shadows
Beneath the limn of the moon.

A distance -
The tide's dull thrum

The brightness falling,
Rising again
With the heat of the day.

Here, where they laugh
Keep fires
Slip hands beneath the mane of the earth

Lips whip words through the night
On sparks,
Stray embers

Tongues lick against the grain
Verge on description
Go silent again.

Their limits run up
Against the curve of the lip of the sea

Verge on destruction

Return to the tentative

And collected

Under the limn of the moon