In The Garden Of The Moon
the pregnant moon
a silent copper bell rests its eyes.
Bronze from autumn evenings
gives the silent bell
a voice to pray with,
asters to sleep with, and deep red Malaga wine.
Outside the casement windows
which look out on the garden,
the Seasons argue
in voices poured from porcelain ewers.
Do you remember the crows
who ate the pears that hung
dark and shy like lost children
in the garden of the Moon?
The mother-moon gathers them
with a thimble on her finger
stitching them into tomorrow and tomorrow
while the copper bell and the quarrelsome Seasons sleep.
The child we might have had,
is curled in the casement window
where crows bring silver stars from indigo nights
and a bell rings in prayer and sorrow.
for Sunday Muse #171