The Moon it's always the moon, slash in the eastern sky or apple-full, making night into day. It's always the moon, unexpected sight of it that stops me, puts words on hold. An in-breath.
The Moon
it's always the moon, slash in the eastern sky or apple-full, making night into day.
It's always the moon, unexpected sight of it that stops me, puts words on hold.
An in-breath.
Copyright 2009 by Sylvia Levinson