Wednesday, 3 October 2012


(The Moon and the Sun)

The moon rose like silver in the sky,
The Plough swung slowly with the slowness of time,
The garden burned with St. Elmo’s fire
And the apple trees rustled in the night wind.
He is like the fruit. He is like the moon.

            The moon sank before dawn.
            In that chill annihilation
            My mind crumbled to pieces,
            Almost would not bother,
            Returned to the friable, dew-damp soil.

The sun rose like a lion in the sky,
And all day long considered the world.
The garden pool glimmered with gold,
Its imperious glitter tore the flesh from my heart.
He is like the light. He is like the sun.

© October 1979

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