the sickle moon hangs in the sky <br />peach silk clouds <br />wood smoke drifts across <br /> <br />an ending and a beginning <br />a convolution of gaseous ash <br />a shroud to hide with <br /> <br />but <br />the moon is the same <br />still <br />humming <br />mirrored in the glow of the white blossom chalices <br />constant in the moment of change <br /> <br />my mind tries to hold the humming <br />'Stay! ', it says.... <br />it runs through my fingers like spring water <br />wood smoke on the evening air...<br /><br />Anthony Dalby<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sickle-moon/
