evidently there are two sides at least
for each and every three dimensional
and so too the moon we are told
has one that we shall never see
a lunar conundrum of numbers
the obverse obscurely occult but not always dark
a far flung flank that triggers intrigue
yet here also is a full face familiar as our own projection
a cyclical silver scythe that cuts the night sky
becomes a pearl button glowing at the throat of crooners
and spooners of-course laid low on love
before the passion passes with the phase
the penultimate phase when the moon flips
when incipient yin beams like a full-on beacon
and the faintest of falcates fades
three days and nights it hangs in stranded obsolescence
animation in suspension - tension - apprehension
an expectation that the stencilled crescent will rise
newer than the born again
Written for Susan’s Midweek Motif: “Dark Moon, New Moon“
PoetryPix 