the moon’s sacristy,

where nature dons its vestments
for summer’s service,

and mournful cicadas chant
of eternal recurrence

reflections on the water
that pull the moonlight longer

like small things that we
turn grander by distortion

then live to watch fade

She sometimes hears her father’s voice
That faded far too soon –

It tells her not to be afraid,
But that her friend, the moon

Is there to watch her when he’s gone.
But he’s been gone for years:

And all the moonlight sees tonight
Are memories
And tears

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