Saturday, September 10, 2011

Moon 12

I want to tell her
I'm writing poems nightly
about you.

She is explaining
her role and why she's
reduced it this year.

Looking up
I notice the great growth
in your girth.

You have lost
clarity, intensity.
We are on our way

to a talk
on being taken hostage
in Somalia.

The man and his sister
speak with great clarity
and intensity.

When we escape
you have become the centre
of a pink-rimmed corona.

The sky is intensely
black and clearly cloudy.
My friend and I

take the wrong street
looking for my car -
find it! Get lost

before reaching
the poetry.


  1. i love the ending of this, and the short, almost broken-sounding triplet lines that you've created it with. something about the abruptness of the line length and the shift in focus--from the moon, the friend, the talk, and back again-- really draws me into the piece. nice write.