The following poem was written five years ago, but this evening I was inspired to post it here on looking at the crescent moon above Sowerby Bridge.
The poem appears in my colletion Dove, Deferred, which has just been submitted to a publisher.
THIS APRIL MOON
This April moon's a dandelion clock
scattering silver seeds;
of lucent mead.
This April moon's an owl's
peering over frost-flossed moors
hardening in sky like solid ice,
a totem, frozen
with the pain of memory,
a dove, deferred.
This moon, this Ancient rock,
water-woven and through circled thumb
tombstone pinned against unravelling skies,
scene-setter for love or loss,
night's flag or morning's
cool refracted vestibule of light,
lunacy no reason can diffuse,
or a newly hatching egg - you choose.