Blue Moon
The second moon
emerged from behind a cloud
outside our kitchen window.
Bleached luminous dust.
There are holes you say
in a black heart
gaming a backdrop of stars.
We followed it with our eyes.
Weeks later
all that was left was a sliver.
From a large white ball
grazing that warm summer night
we tell ourselves our emotions
were unattached.
And yet, were they?
Jan Darrow. (c) 2023
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