mid-autumn

i wanted mooncakes: that is to say,
round suppleness of skins slipped

around a compact handful dense 
with secret origins, thickened 

with sugar and the elaborate labor 
of bringing what you desire  

to fruition. and it is labor, this 
pulling, this stretching to curve 

a garment around a golden center 
without splitting its lip, its crust.

we think it's possible to assign
one word, one character to stamp 

like a talisman on the face we wear 
before we're fed into the fire.