"Take the ribbon from your hair
shake it loose and let it fall"
--Kris Kristofferson
The moon drowses now, in her compartment
made of asters on a train to the sea
and she seeks in her dream the department
of missent lilies, mislaid carelessly.
Her petition is dancing so sweetly
that the gods search their memories for tears
to stitch where her silver crescent appears.
The moon is blemished now, by dawn and time
and the train master calls for her sorrow
to be served as gin with a wedge of lime
and then forwarded on to tomorrow
where what they can't buy, the asters borrow
a mixing of winds as a bandage to bind
her with thread of forgetting, serpentined.
_____
for Tuesday Poetics: Fay Collins
art by Fay Collins
this poem is a rhyme royal