Moon Day
One of those ambiguous days
when the moon hangs out in the sun
and Venus is lit by a festival bulb
and aircraft by mallow trails
The midday moon is a shop-girl
you’re shocked to see on a bus
ghost through defensive walls
like ice on a winter moustache
The bus ticket is pale and rich
twice doubled with lilac shadow
And cats’ eyes wink on the river
and each road is a road to follow
The moon, like a keeping sister
grips your hand brief in her own
burns her grand face on yours
signing you off on your own
Like a repentant flea, the moon
returns to her market stall
and the supermarket giant sun
the only star tomorrow
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