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  • Breaking the Moon

    It was assembled and etched,
    mounted in a sheet
    of blackness,
    you said I hung it there;
    you didn't believe that I couldn't.
    Our path was strewn with a luminous luster;
    But then;

    a crescent moon pierced us;
    moonlight dripped
    from the tips of my hair.
    I slammed down my boot;
    something split;
    the hollow moon
    shattered and spilled smashing the ground;
    shards littered our path.
    Black and white etchings became lucid.
    You viewed them with the eye of a seller.
    A gust of wind whirled spent pieces away.

    Darkness presses
    against the windowpanes
    taunting
    the empty place where you laid;
    eyes fill like pools of ice.

    Pamela Wilonski
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