The Moon, Its Magic, Its Top Hat, Its White Rabbit, Its Disappearing Die
       

The magic moon since stepped upon
Is not there.

The moon is gone.
The moon and its magic
Have gone away, left.

The moon and its magic
Have moved away.

Now no one, no one
Can know if the moon
Keeps its silver eyes open,
Or if the moon closed
A silver eyelid over a silver eye.

But we know
The moon is always still.
The moon cannot move.
And we know
We are watching
Where the moon was,
But no moon and its magic.

We know we are where
We always stood
When watching the moon.
We know the moon
Does not move.
But no moon.

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Copyright © 2019 Duane Locke All rights reserved
from The Stella Poems
The Bitter Oleander Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission