That full moon like a brass button studding the night, implying perforation, adeherence, closure. In some places it was occluded, tarnished– but we couldn’t see it from where we sat, adrift in a deep night that fell like a curtain. For every word a third unspoken. That full, full moon and the Earth’s shadow encroaching. The very papable weight of nothing.
Flower moon milk moon strange weather these days which came first the sun or all this rain the gingko come back overnight it seems or maybe I’ve been away wet footings insubstantial sleep . flower moon milk moon must exert some tide some pull a dream some days can seem more real but still recedes electric green leaves convulsing in the wind thunder predicted and waiting as giving . milk moon flower moon what sort […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 