A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
The moon in her lopsided veil
like a hillbilly bride
her face round and pale pink
against the darkening blue.
You can imagine how disappointed she will be
by her lumpish husband
and how, honeymoonless,
she will have to make biscuits
and mop the floors.
However, fortunately, unlike us,
she is the mistress of disguises
and can slip away
after a few weeks
on her slender boat
down the billowing river of night.
Copyright 2021 Elizabeth Romero