Recording The Moon

– moon through the trees,

A tired, shining face;

The very smell of moon

Seasoned with pollen –

Why must I record?


My life’s a postcard

Never to be sent,

A camera set to run, a blinking eye,

A capsule for him to open in some other time or place.


I am a ghost town

In the desert dust,

Waiting for one who never went away,

Waiting, forever waiting, for the day he might pass by.


Somebody’s cat

Tiptoeing through the leaves;

No longer lived-in house

Dark under ivy; polished, empty rooms –




Painting: A Dance Around The Moon by Charles Altamont Doyle