Night
Tonight’s infant moon is just out,
Hanging tiny,
Scared and poised,
Daring me with its arc eye,
Poking it out from hiding.
There’s a white gleam of skin at the edge of her shirt,
It is just where the front comes together, before the overlap.
A sliver of bright promise at the end of midnight blue fabric,
It gleams,
Afraid, and alert and looking.
August 2008
1 comment:
From here a brazen sun saunters. Blazing, embolding shafts are your tomorrow, for sure! Go for it!
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