In the Light of the Harvest Moon

She hangs impossibly perfect
In a midnight sky
So clear and crisp
Bright as day,
As it is meant to be,
As she has done throughout
The harvests of the ages.
She illuminates the air
As it hangs still, and permanent,
About her.
Her gaze is constant
Almost Benevolent.
She seems so close,
As though she is just
Just beyond our reach
Almost near enough
To touch
But blinding,
Like so many timeless mysteries.
The stars shine
In darker quarters
Hanging faintly in their places
Arching high above
In their own
Ignore the rooftops
and the modern life intruding;
Here is something vast
And wondrous-
Something approaching
The beginning of spirit,
A primordial wandering in the dessert.


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