An Old Moon

  

It was sublime orange
A walk when I had with two
To a beach of home

A sharp feeling of wreckage
Crossed the mind and anxiety
Lapped and hurled across the shoreline

There the orange turned red
Paving way for weight of life

And it was love later
Found in lanes of cliché
Where it went to look
For not a horse but a home another
On grounds that the body compelled
For no reason to win but to fail

So it is coming from there—the fuel
That it knows on which it can run
To live and lie
Beyond what is found

 

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