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Passion of the moon


Twisted twigs, like twenty dark fingers
spread to cover Moon's face
shorn of leaves, born of embers
of a dismantled time.
I'm amazed the tree still stands
I'm amazed water still runs
in rivulets... sparkling, gurgling
down ravines of parting.

And even though beasts scream
in dark dreams, like winged creatures
escaping violated caves
sinews taut, they await,
a dire fate of writhing and burning...

When a solitary dancer
clad in starry glitter
tip-toes into moonlight
the wind rises
gentle and soft, nudging
twisted twigs off the moon's face.

The moon is eager to see
she's eager to show
And in that passion of the moon
the dancer begins to sway
in sync, with a ribbon of celestial neon
slow at first, like an intoxicant
she trickles into Moon's senses
filling craters to the brim.
The fringe of her billowing skirt
flashes, dazzles, hypnotizes
as the rhythm picks up speed
swirling, twirling, churning up
a luminescent dream of seven shades

In the shadow of the distant hills
a low rumble, like a fear remembered
signals a crack in the snowpack.


c o p y r i g h t    p r o s e n j i t  r o y

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