The Masterpiece: Light Pink Moon, Full
For the first time in years the moon’s hung
again like a fruit in the air
where was one all that while
and what did one do elsewhere and better
this night to etherealize art
and lie on ground is sufficient
thus as if blind with one deaf hand
on the hungrily paid-out senses
one devours the crickets the night wind the world, this
can’t be fancied, no notion, all’s
fit in its skin beneath the light rose moon, full
formed absolute inedible peach –