Moon at Half Past Noon

The bend in the road and the spire

As if struck by a a gaint hammer

Straighten and shiver

And mad folk dance with

The rise of the echo

They gather around a fire

Inside Plato’s cave

And, they and their shadows

Walk hand in hand

Watched over by the

Hieroglyphs inscribed

By the rays of the sun

That celebrate

The being and his

Ephemeral world

Deep within the valley

Scurries, far out and wide

The rumble beneath the linen

Is it the earth shifting

The gossip hurries

Returns with a violent force

Everywhere is a maze of three walls

Your own voice resounds like

An impersonation

Of yourself, at best


Whether one hangs

Like a monkey on a branch

Or, lotus sitting on the glass

Of a dirty pond

The reflection is always

A rebellion against what I want

To see or feel or be

The brightest day is a haze

Between two moments of captivity

There is freedom only in uncertainty

Rock skipping upon a lake

A frog leaping across and falling short

Unfinished business, and an unending wake

There’s the arrow piercing the heart

The truth that belies the prophecy

Mind benumbed, is awake

The mud on a swirl, settles

When a reverie is nudged away

When the epiphany strikes

When the light

Not just skims and bounces

But, penetrates the veneer

And reaches the core of Marina

When the darkness parts

The Sea and reveals

The heart of purity

Then I see

No heaven, no beauty, no wisdom

Just me

As I was

As I am

As I will be