Poetry Lessons

The moon is a cold rock
lit by an absent sun.

Geography lessons
did not kill for me
the poetry of tides and cycles,
the sea's breast rising
to the moon's pull.

And the simple law of gravity
could not eclipse the mystery
of this spinning
and imperfect globe.

But the trochee, dactyl,
a b a b a b of Friday afternoons
wrung the last drops of poetry
from each slow minute
and left the evening
dry and verseless.

A cold rock
lit by an absent sun.

Next>