Saturday, June 4, 2011

Waxing Crescent

All day I had in mind
Something convoluted
I wanted to tackle

A bit of drollery
About solipsism
That the moon rerouted

With the slenderest wand
Of reflected starlight
The uncanny pallor

Neither silver nor white
Found only in the glow 
Of poems about the moon

In the eyes of poets
Falling out of their boats
To kiss the faint mirror

The last echo of light
That started out as fire
And ended up as night

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