by Theodore Enslin
Moon sickle above under
brush where it always was
crumble in flames of echo
where it always was in
clouds of a last reflection
sound only mouse footfall
silence dark depth to plumb
onshore of little breeze
no wavelength light to touch
as phosphorous fish scale
light poured into shadow
no live thing remaining
spindrift footstep in it
sickle moon it dies away.
Last updated November 02, 2022