Lunar lunacy continued

Following up on my last moon-lit piece, I'm posting a poem from the archives that I found appropriate to the topic.

Dawn Messengers
by Francis Scudellari

Rude-fingered light, bent rays,
don't pull me, prick me, try to wake me.
Paint your pictures on other eyes.
Pale shafts, dawn messengers --
bird songs, child's-play laughs on your back --
drop your notes in other ears.
Time-tossed, sense-tickled, my body
will not emerge from its slumber,
sleep-submerged, dream-steeped, hope-bathed.
Hie thee! Away with thee, Sun!
A curse, a pox on you! For shame.
Leave me lie, I won't look on you.
Reason rouser, clarity coaxer,
Truth triller, deceit dispeller,
ball of flame, gas, constancy, prose.
Trade places with, bring back the tide's queen,
it is she I serve, she I worship,
her faint glow a soft-handed caress.
O green-lit mystery, shape-shifting,
muddled, puddled panderer;
O voodoo-vaunted trickster,
goddess of poetry, of change,
calm conjurer, peaceful puzzler,
cold, curved, cratered rock, come back!
Pry my lashes, Sun, you cannot win.
I will pull you in, to my den,
to my chimera-wrapped haven.
My darkened delirium brightened,
I will open-eyed dream
until the moon smile-shines again.