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Click hereThe moon is pregnant with metaphor.
You look up and see a fingernail
or a benevolent loopy face.
Think of a harvest moon, dark
as pumpkin or winter’s white gold
shifting in and out of gray, hanging
like an ornament in a snow globe.
The delicate spring moon is balanced
in night, a promise lighting copses’
hidden bowers, glowing on whispers,
laughter, yours and yours, a promise
kept in summer in its translucent
descent kissing rivers and ocean,
so full of itself, dancing joy on water,
but it’s shy and unsure, too,
a bumpkin moon sneaking behind
the Sun's skirts, sometimes all the way.
Nothing is so cold as that moment
when it’s blotted away by darkness
or so reassuring as the ever of its return.
We daydream about the cow’s high jump,
the silly dish and spoon eloping,
and we feel safe and sleep or sing
about its glow, how it shines on
because it has to be moonlight
or shadow or some other thing
that it is and isn’t everywhere.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,500 poems.
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beams from every line. (Except for that part about the new moon). Beautiful Ange.
*who needs a thermometer on a night like this?
I could have kept on reading. I wanted to keep on reading.
I also agree about the stanza breaks, to make it a little easier on the eyes (readers like me who can get lost). Also consider breaking the long center run-on into some smaller parts... I think it would make the images stronger.
Great stuff!
I wish this was longer
feels like you just scratched the surface..
if you DO make it longer.....
Stanza breaks!!
: D
Nice work Ange