Caste of the Moon Mask

Listen to haggard scrape
of plows, shovels dragging
across asphalt, only sound

when it snows, rabbits in three
triangle after triangle pattern
the silence. Skin is only so thick,

no one remembers this when
sleep along the mountain-side
arches, terrarium-topped tunnels

above my head. Fringe recollections:
crickets sing with legs all night
to the music, moon’s cold words.

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2 thoughts on “Caste of the Moon Mask

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