Harvest Moon
by Anca Vlasopolos
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the moon tossed like a flashlight in an unsteady hand
behind the sycamore
branches struggled out of the grip of wind
leaves flinging themselves from sockets
flailing
shshooooo
hoarse whisper
shshooooo
time to dance
to ride the spiraled air
under this wandering eye
in the driveway
as over skin coarsened with age
slugs’ trails shimmer
like scraped silver
like traces
of spent semen
fallen tears
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