Maybe the Moon
Maybe the Moon
Difficult times, skip ropes
and pigtails eroded in the breath
and pigtails eroded in the breath
of a dog-face-afternoon.
Maybe the moon
will come closer
to whatever intelligent life
is left in our dwindling
universe and your wind
will blow in my direction
pure like the blood that runs
through the gates of heaven,
through the gates of heaven,
the deep color of clay.
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