The Gasp of Moons
Moons suffer subtle tortures. All around
Them float sweet stars, sweet water drops that wink
At them. Sweet twinkling cruelties abound.
Sahara dry, the moons can never drink.
A shooting star or asteroid might hit
A moon, but water never comes, a gift
Along with these collisions. There’s a pit
In panting smallpox rock, but there’s a rift
Between the need of lunar surface, blanched
With thirst, and what the desert winter needs.
The surface never feels flakes avalanched
For melting on forever missing seeds.
No sip is ever given to the moons
Who always wait, licked, pocked and leprous prunes.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Feb 24, 2025 | Ta, TO |