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Colors of the Moon
colors of the moon
echo in the treetops
fade far too soon.
in the night the moon climbs into the sky
whirls in the sky
cries in the sky
petals of the black rose
close around the day beads
rolling down the lost highway.
I am startled
the moon is bright October full pink
blushing like a Catholic schoolgirl
in a jumper of light clouds.
in the dark of December, the moon is citrus
like a candied orange sent in a foolish little confectioner’s box
by a distant crazy great-uncle who uses cologne and ribbons
I like moons with flavor and sass
moons with mind.
sometimes the moon bleeds red, red
and everyone runs for their Bible, sure the End is near
but there’s no red in sight—only a blurry light pink through binoculars
in the sky over the abandoned restaurant.
I sleep through the wandering eclipse
I sleep soundly as the moon bids Jupiter a polite kiss
the moon may find me sleeping in dust
as it wanes on my candle-eyed hours
on brown earth, on brown and green earth
the moth above me, the bed below me
laying down, laying down beneath my window.
even though the moon starts its garish rising
when it reaches full circle sky, it is pure white
and when the moon winds shake silver warm leaves
in the cracks between dark bare trees
I’ll think of waterfalls somewhere else.
beneath the moonfall, I long to be snow
my hummingbird heart beats a rhythm of silent snowfall
beneath my moon candle.
come silently born in the cold
come silently born in the sky.