Quiet Moon

Quiet, quiet moon.

Transported to your ebullient bosom, I inhale the silence, gazing at the unconcerned world from this specious vantage point-- a costly pinprick, the stoic woman. Whose barriers dismay, whose disconnection grieves. Mousy voices undercut the heavy silence, heard at the edge of vision, scrambling like a swarm of insects outside the ear's periphery.

Here I am. Poisoned and cloaked in loneliness, toasting mute grief. I stand, suspended, as the stars unravel, stringing essences trailing, trailing, dissolving, dissolving.

Quiet, quiet moon.

You loom from my scrambled eyes; your grave peace solemnly reflective; acling with devotees. Rebukingly, rebukingly, yet witholding judgment.

We stand entranced, the traffic gushes by, streaming, streaming, fibs of breathing laughter killed in the new, new moon.