Tonight is an old full moon
yellow, even
with a circlet and freckled face
our faces are
yours is, too.
Last night I sat on the curb
looking out at the glow soon
to land on rooftops and stone paths, on
my nose
on your face, were you here. Today
I climbed a swooning steeple and pulled off
with my ragged nail
soft moss of the Salisbury West Wing and
gently placed it by my breast, in my dress
till it is carried by some licked envelope,
carried by the sea.
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