This moonslice quarter
over this land of unsung beauty
hangs brilliant over the palpable dark,
haunted by fear of the unknown.
Somehow, though, we forget
and sing and dance
like frenzied demons on such a rebirth
aborted.

It is no longer prudent
to remember
where the other three-quarters hang:
Our searching fingers may unearth
worms of a faith dumped on its youth
and justice staggering under greed.
Were it not so would you begin
the telephone conversation with
a declaration of patriotism and bug-scorn?