August 10

comments 9

That full moon
like a brass button

studding the night,
implying perforation,

adeherence, closure.
In some places

it was occluded,

but we couldn’t see it
from where we sat,

adrift in a deep night
that fell like a curtain.

For every word
a third unspoken.

That full, full moon
and the Earth’s shadow

encroaching. The very
papable weight

of nothing.



  1. Your words are wonderful as always.

    I know you don’t post every single day, but have you thought of Doing the Tupelo 30/30 challenge? I ask out of selfish reasons, as I want and uninterrupted flow of your poems.

    Liked by 1 person

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