Half a moon in the sky, suspended
as an earring from the tree.
And the mind flies to make a perch
out of meaning—
Meaning choices have been made,
between some idea of ornament
and an idea of loss; between the card
of membership and the polite
rejection. Diplomacy:
the faintly vibrating net
electric in the gap. Or
all that will ever remain unsaid.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.