Phases Of The Moon

Donald Alvarez

The frosty moon Is torn
Is torn in half,
Stars spraying like zest
Of lemon
Across the November sky.

The rest is black.
Below is black.
In the shadows, blacker.
Through the doorway of the adobe
Blacker still,
The fug making the room a cell
Where a foot presses outward
Against a full moon belly
Aching for freedom.
And with all that blackness,
Beyond the threshold
The brightest moon of the year
Bent for the horizon
Tugged by Venus
Is dying
Again
In the Western sky.
  ©Copyright Donald Alvarez