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