That little girl
toe-tip swinging
on a school bench
holds her shirt front
like a steering wheel
to drive drive drive

mouth working 
into a moon-wide yawn

perhaps she’d come with me
touring among the clouds 
like red scarves
who dare purple bluffs to gallop in
noses bitten straight as woodchips

at home two eggs
refuse to hatch
mother hen,
busy beak and irate fluff 
attacking all and 
you have to wonder
is it instinct or grief?

but here and now 
I am driving alone
head-on through the sieve, 
the mottled glow

of that ballistic
yawning moon

Hi to my regular readers.  The next few weeks look pretty daunting for personal reasons.  Not sure I'll be posting much but I hope you'll be here when I come back.  I so enjoy exchanging poems and comments with you.  May the moon be kind to you.


13 thoughts on “Moon

  1. This is absolutely gorgeous. Every image is captivating, as is your transitional flow. I have recently watched parakeets hatch (and not) their first clutch. One baby survived. The process, including death, is fascinating.

    Liked by 1 person

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