MOON DAY
One of those ambiguous days
when the moon hangs out in the sun
and Venus is lit by a festival bulb
as you queue at the stop for town
The full day moon is a shop-girl
you’re shocked to see, on the bus,
ghost through defensive walls
like ice on a winter moustache
The single ticket is pale and rich
twice doubled with lilac shadow
And cats’ eyes wink on the river
and roads are marshmallow
The moon, like a keeping sister
grips your hand briefly in hers
burns her grand face onto yours
signing you off on your own
And for a day the world seems
capable of being transparent.
And people even smile a little
as if something mattered
But, a repentant flea, the moon
returns to her market stall
And the terminus call is made
and the plan of the day takes over
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