After a Full Moon

I can feel her leaving
and see her disappear.

She no longer burns in my bones
and my blood. She does not light my eyes.
Only the regular sun

glances off thick waters,
flamingo wings, and white flanks
when the horses run.

I am empty, and free to go,
but now Martine smiles
and I see the morning

in her dark hair, so still
I am here like a small boat
rocking near the shore,

pulled by the ebb tide out to sea,
pushed by the surf, torn to splinters.