…and Just by chance I looked up at the moon

and saw the false brightly lit orb shrouded by a perfect circle

where clouds had formed separating to make a giant’s eye.

Unblinking, all-knowing, understanding the darkest secrets

of the solitary magpie sheltering in the darkness of the church eaves

and its feathers ruffling, tearing at the bird-like sleep, dozing

dreaming of glittering bauble and fully formed salutes

from passing strangers.

 

The moon is but a mere child’s pebble thrown, ejected with violence

onto a dusty unused sandpit, the hollow crater surrounded

by nothing, offering nothing, saying nothing,

but witnessing all and keeping a vigil where the sun

cannot be on its own personal scorching path.

The Moon is silent from way down here and the magpie

is unafraid of its presence, just wary of the demons it brings

out to play and hunt for its pot of gold.

 

A cloud encroaches slowly into the Moon’s ice cold stare

but remains mute, the cloud however mocks, gently at first,

with howling gale of laughter at its end as it slowly

is dissipated and dispersed by the Sun’s morning burn.

The Moon says nothing but allows the Magpie a raucous moan

in its sleep as it heralds the cloud’s destruction.

The pebble thrown by the young child sits patiently,

unfeeling at its own solitary path, the crater now filled.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015