Moonscape
Tonight I’ll sleep upside down,
face the moon. Even after all time
and men clambering about in its dust,
it goes through clouds amazing.
I have studied those charts, my finger
drawing across lines and dates,
where the moon is the head of a pin
and earth the ‘o’ of a bobbin reel,
sun mirror, wave sucker, flung
cast of lunacy. Once it caught light
in its lemon shift, ate Kentucky grass,
spat a blue luminous as Sheba.
But you’d walk rough shod a thousand,
thousand Roman miles and still
there’d be no reaching the moon
of myths where all lost things are,
love, quarrels and sons,
the diamond scratch of old wrongs.
Page(s) 19
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