Poems are like moons
reflecting past light
back down towards me
when I choose to look

Mind and creation
coexisting
at a respectful distance

Purged
with so much space between us
I no longer live
through the poems
they’re just reflections now

Beneath the busy sky
I’m free
and living life...

(Inspired by Cynthia's moon poems)

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Getting acquainted with the moon 
behind glass
we exchange so many glances
and on my back
a thousand heart-attacks roll past
My fingers beside, cross and uncross
as you sleep, so black
back in the real world
paid up entirely
on your subscription
to actual reality

O would you bring me a souvenir
from the envious depths of endless peace
perhaps a child or a patient nurse
or some cont...

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