ode to the Moon

the smoke-tinted fingers of barren trees jut into black night

behind, the peak of the mountain kisses

your crescent, a frail faraway portrait

scalloped to the shape of your invisible soul mate

which withers during the month

lonely, draped in a veil of white,

and waits to be reunited as whole.

Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com

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