Rising behind the red barn
On Updyke Road,
A fire of burning moon
Etched my sending-lines in gold,
As I bloomed into
The glowing half-orb,
Illuminating the architecture of
Bare trees in winter, the road
Rounding onto Stillwell and
The sheen into a troubled heaven
Comforting turmoil, regret, carrying
Trepidation and loneliness into
The deep hills that bridge this
World and the next, folding
Me back into a slow dance along a
City sidewalk in a moss of
Still remembrance.
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