Nights of no moon,
days of no moon poems.
Somehow I am four short
of those I need to fulfill
the promise of one every day
for this lunar month.
It’s true: there were days,
a few days bunched together,
when I got jack of it —
turning up faithfully
night after night
for your no-show.
Funny, when I do it
simply for spiritual connection
with no thought of poetry,
I don’t care if I can’t see you.
Knowing where you are
behind the clouds, I blow you
a smiling kiss anyway.
Journalling my relationship with the moon: 27
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