Give Me Back the Moon

image credit: J.Revis2009

Grant me the memory of the inky spills
behind the moon, and the angel
expression on your face.
The Black Hills disappeared
as the inkwell sunset tipped,
and the pale light hesitantly, quietly,
illuminated the vanilla-bean ponderosas,
fragrant with pitchy sap
in August.

That honest smile of yours,
strong under the gentle moon.
Strong as granite underfoot that night.
Strong with honest lips,
under the security of our youthful skies.

That is our story, atop the ridgeline,
in a star village.
Before the industrial days burned
us slowly, like a tire fire.
Smoky attacking stacks,
exhausted cars running,
hot tar streets melting.
Days of commutes to work,
clouding our skies – our view.
Before the days tarnished
the moon yellow like tobacco-stained teeth.
O, love!
O, youth!
O, memories kept!
Give me back the moon
with its frail light falling
across your face.


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