yes, you hang
untainted by the rusting
of trees or their
bare-fingered poking
all these days of rain
fall, falling,
fall full moon
round as possibility
a vast, bright
musical note
in your stave
of power lines
washed clean
in the black glass sky
star choirs
mute and brittle
the thickness
of a cloud
its pinked edge
and you are gone
just whiteness
your song of night
Love the black glass sky image, worms. Lovely imagery.
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THanks, K. Autumn is handing out gifts when I remember to look.
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Fantastic!
a vast, bright
musical note
in your stave
of power lines
Love this stanza!
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Thanks Bob. As you can probably tell from my photo, that’s where the poem began.
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Yes, I’ve always liked the moon behind the power lines. I really liked the way you framed it.
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This is splendid, in particular “bare-fingered poking” at the moon.
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Thanks, Misky
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