Antimoon

full moon of my youth
lost in the clouds

leaving every dark thing
its residue of dream

take this small pine
shagged up by itchy antlers

dormant for the winter
it doesn’t know it’s dead yet

alone in the goldenrod
a sparrow startles awake

overhead a bright fissure
opens and closes

from the springhouse
the sound of a slow drip

seeping out of its dark window
high in a whitewashed wall

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