By An Anonymous Contributor
A final star winks out :
old lady moon drives by, sad and alone
hunched in her 1989 white Cadillac :
she’s off to rest all day
in the chateau her second husband left her.
Black trees become dark green
then lighter green – the whitewash
of the sky is thinned with golden paint :
the bay is an opal mirror
where Daddy-o sun can see his bearded face.
Down in the village a tireless rooster
welcomes the dawn, over and over :
I wake, still drunk with last night’s wine,
I live each day, over and over,
and the green sunrise, and the long silence.
Earth turns her back
raises a lazy dark green shoulder
eclipses herself : it’s time to return
to that distant murmuring source
of old and long-forgotten dreams.
Over the bay there drifts a silent haze,
a skiff returns in the old day’s light
painting a single silver line
towards the land: almost
without hope, almost without motion.
I see the world turning and turning
each day re-lived in endless whirl:
and tell my lonely soul, go down
to find Eurydice – hoping and hoping
for that long slow journey home.