Waiting for sister moon

Waiting for sister moon
to extinguish our fire
is an all-night affair

Our dances are a cyclical
celebration of the seasons
set to hand drums, pipes, and chants.

The young throw broken angelwing
and empty moonsnail shells
into the approaching tide.

Intoxicated by the Milky Way as it slowly
wakes in the sky, we string
sand dollars into necklaces.

For our performance tonight
the majordomo
in blue military regalia
with a golden sash
awards us a map of
plague towns to avoid.

He and his inland group depart
with torches along the worn path.
We look at the map and at
one another.

Does he expect us to leave
these, our home shorelines?

We fall asleep in our tents
to the hiss of sister moon
extinguishing our fire
pulling the ocean over
the sands.