THE PALED MOON IS ERASED
as sunflower yellows to morning.
A moth hides from day
under shaded bark. Wind
plucks a wisp of dandelion and nestles
it into grass. Summered heat distorts
distant poplars. Mimosa’s
dusk-scent settles on evening’s
folded leaves. The sun’s remnant,
a cloak of isolation,
covers me.
The Bishop’s House Review
