A Shining
A full-gorged moon opens its illumined glare.
Ghost lights flood the dens, burrows and nests
of all creatures,
a limpid dementia swirls blood-red clouds
in predatory eyes.
it enters bedrooms, cellars, attics
creeps beneath crawl-spaces.
It follows us into slumber
raises the bones of shipwrecked dreams,
dreams that none may speak of.
Magnetic glimmers pull together
all that stalk in shadow,
pale beams burgle darkened branches,
snare the unborn in unformed wombs,
seeds voices there before any egg is laid.
In the hearts of the desperate,
its creates an iridescence of last-hope poetry.
!t changes the stories that we told yesterday
into legends and tracks along moon paths,
then withdraws into the remoteness of
a reflected dust.
In daylight we commence to call out:
"Did you see that moon last night"?
while others reply:
"No, I must have missed it."
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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