Dark midnight skies,
Almost fever bright –
The full moon hung on
The skeletal dead branches like
A froth of early blossoms.
That icy hand protectively caresses
An endless midnight ocean and
Somehow manages to burn.
Illuminating the wispy clouds
Hanging in the black like
The scruffy webs of black widows -
Lacking beautiful symmetry but with
Their own arcane design.
They say the full moon
Distorts our perceptions,
Clouds our judgment…
Makes fools of us all.
The moonbeams blind us to
The truth.
How do you feel about the moon –
About how it translates
The light of the sun?
Do you believe in magic?
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