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the moon curves
on its downward journey
and takes in its wake
a silver sheet
lined with clouds
and dreams that lost their way –

it drags behind it
aged stars
in a crumpled sky and
waylaid rays of
yesterday’s hope –

as the yellow moon sinks
into the arms of the orange
tree, it hangs awhile,
mulling –
will the dark edges hold
the stars from spilling
into the cauldron
of the day?
will the dreams wrinkle
or remain fresh faced?

the orange tree holds the moon –
questions, dreams and all –

a new dawn will set foot in
the old sky – a certain answer –

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