Before the Moon

Before the Moon March 29, 2010

How this ache stops me, old teacher

that it is. Often on the way home

when the wiper won’t clear it away.

Or after a call with a friend who longs

for something he can’t quite name.

After utter companionship, not knowing

what to say, when everyone has gone to bed,

and the moon has stopped being shy, I put

my tongue on the table like a paper weight

and walk wordless through the night.

The place where beauty meets pain

is where we bend, not break.


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