Saturday, 12 April 2014

twelve

the moon knows my phases
i show her my many faces
and she reads them all.
she is not active like my mother
slow moving through the sky
and i, drinking tea
in the moonlight
rely on both their counsel.
i love her with a varying intensity,
her song has no title and no tune
yet i still find myself writing nightly 
in her glow.

the sun on the other hand
has less compassion and
offers more comfort.
i am here with the ants
jostling for her attention
the way i did with my father
back through the times i'd
rather forget but instead of regret
i channel the energy to
keep the pen moving.
escaping anything in the sunshine
and wishing on the wind.


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