Borrowed Light

The moon hoists herself over the hill heading for the sea, eight hours to go, the whole littoral below her. She flicks aside the stickiness of stars but stands appalled at the stream of light devouring the shore, headlights swallowing the lights of towns, spewing across the scattered homes that once flickered small but visible. Dispersed but intact she crawls toward the sea, paled by so much homemade glare, grateful for the horizon at last. Behind her, lovers turn to each other in confusion, disturbed at having seen too much, too soon.

Mary Cresswell is from Los Angeles and lives on New Zealand’s Kapiti Coast. Her fourth book, Fish Stories, was published by Canterbury University in 2015. For more info, visit here.