Tuesday, August 12, 2014



Had you said her smile, her cheekbones
Could only belong to a priestess of the moon
I would have nodded yes, yes, surely this is so
Dogs must follow her but only cats may know
What words she speaks on moonless nights.

These days, though, are not kind to such priestesses
So on a day when the full moon was a ghostapple
Hanging in the sun's bright light she slipped off
Carrying from the world a measure of its grace.

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