Fallen Stars Found Here

There's a secret to every new moon,
And to be crescent, swooned
over a field of foxgloves,
over the strawman midst the rye,
the wind-storm
and the Kimbu berries.

To have matured into a monarch
And looked down
at your own
honeycombed corpse;
a fresh pearl plucked
and patched onto the skin
of the sky.