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Friday, December 23, 2016

Admiration III

        After the Moon                                                                      Marianne Boruch

     eclipsed itself, the rumor or darkness
     true, the whole radiant business
     almost over, only a line,
     an edge, like some
     stray part of a machine
                                                             not one of us
     can figure any more:
     what it thrashed or cut, what it sewed
     quietly together, what it scalded
     or brought back from the dead. After this,
     I came inside to sleep.    
                                                But it’s the moon still,
     pale run of it shaping
     the door closed against the half-lit hall.
     The eye is its own
     small flicker orbiting under the lid
     a few hours.
                              Not so long,
     bright rim,
     giving up its genius
     briefly, mountains under dark, craters
     where someone, then no one
     is walking.

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