The Silver Disc

I would that I could share the moon with you,

The spangled disc,
Like speckled end pages of some old book.

You the lady in waiting.

Me, in my morning coat.

A work in progress.

The moon, watching all of this like the foreman of a jury.

A snow globe with the spiral aim of the same flakes,

Seen over and over again in a swirl.

I miss you

Over and over again.


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