Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Under a Half Full Moon

December 14th, 2010

My ear is filled

With splashes of swimmers and floppers

For freight of sounds

They leave air and food.

A shell is struggled open

By rock and apatite

Deep in the mangroves.

Here I am

Myself where before

Out there I was less.

The moon mirrors more than sunlight

As I want to hang myself


The cone—like of a Pine—

Of worry and question

Falls from my hand to white

Flecks of once living lime

Among today’s cold sandy soil,

Orange in the sunset,

That will bring life

And a light that will show them

For what they are

Revealing more than the trash around it.

I lift a bottle high

Having left the land itself

Accepting what it gives

I stay until night passes

For a bolder cone to bear and

For a new sun to see.

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