No Moon/or/Moon Is Full/or/Clouds Become The Moon
Sitting here
You’d think I was sitting here forever – like
A sage, a saviour, in a Buddha/Christ pose
With rings on my fingers and sand between my toes
Because it’s summer
But summer can’t last forever and when it ends
That winter will wind and its shrill wind will blow
And I, like the sands, not structure, nor permanent
Play off the pretty colours
Making finger paintings in the firmament
Making painted scratches on this parchment
Dusty brush stroke hashes that clumsily pick up
The glancing light, the hidden bright flashes
That bounce around and off and through
The things that end and eternity
The no more, no more
And the things that continue
And finally, I look at you, posturing between reds or blues
Arms outstretched like you’re delivering The Good News
Too good to be true, a fancy fool and gone too soon
And all that’s left now, are the clouds and the moon
November 2010 Derek Wilson
