Black Moon Lilith: 5

Helene Cixous knows a descent

 

a ladder hooked

 

on the brim of broad lips, a circle in a sphere.

 

Deeper,

 

a dazzling black blanket of moss, spiders’

 

glitter eyes—you turn your back on the day

 

to step your first foot forward,

 

downward,

 

tnto what might be below a surface

 

a cut, a window in the fabric.

 

Peer under at what happens when you sleep still

 

into what might be eternal night.

 

This is where

 

the writing begins.