Harvest Moon
by Anca Vlasopolos

    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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