Afraid

She told me what she was as I unpeeled her
cloud for cloud, layer for layer of wind.
Stretched out on the horizon
to which she'd beckoned me
I counted planets, I measured gravity;
and destiny, thin destiny
was the scalpel in my hand.

She showed me how to turn the colours black
as I unfurled the petals in her eyes
and smelled the daylight sinking.
As I unpeeled her I saw printed
on all the coverings I discarded
the things I dreamed of, what I wanted.
Then my lungs were filled with sand.

Twirling on a shepherd moon
she danced for all the living and the dead.
I wanted her to stop, to trip,
to strip away the hazy bands she'd painted.
"Breath!" I cried. "Inhale all the tainted
things for which you are so hated,
until the planet's pearly sheen's abated

and the seed is all that's left."

I told her what I was as she unspooled me.