A

I prefer a moon
low and yellow in a sky,
a shudder in my eye
up into a clear mid-summer's night
no light
except that mirror
of sun and mind-wind
winking behind the occasional knife
of an aluminum cloud.

The blue-gas petals
of its lonely bloom
whistle beyond the heat of season
and birdsong and
women dangling from train rings.

It's worth
lifting word
and glass to.


by jerry gordon