IN HUNGARY

The moon is dead
Look at it above
us decomposing like the sun

It is dying on your pale skin
in your eyes and on your teeth
It is dying on your fingernails cold and fresh as juniper

I want to be sixteen again and coming in your hand

We lie on the damp earth there
never was any fire

all our clothes have come undone

A white moth great and terrible
above us wicked
our eyes to close