Moon
       

The dirty monocle stares down at us. It is keeping the birds awake. Somewhere, the tides are rising, drowning the shoreline stone by stone. We cannot read by this light, we cannot discern the colors of our map. Only worry thrives beneath this strange eye, and no matter how hard we hurl these rocks, it will not look away.

Tweet

Copyright © 2021 Charles Rafferty All rights reserved
from A Cluster of Noisy Planets
BOA Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission