Plaridel Moon
upon us shows
only a quarter of its
churlish grin

this circular deathlessness.

the moon's harp
evokes sound
as vermilion stars
and crepuscules
shatter in the distance.
i sit still about
to lose form
as waxes melt
dislimning even
deeper,
the night
and with its hoarse voice
through the window,
it sinks
deeper
deeper
deeper.