Parabola
I've clerked all my life
in the Ministry of the Moon,
a fixed point on her long ellipse,
recording her perigees, her apogees,
her slow apotheoses,
while she lays
her lean silver arms across
the back of my chair, penciling in
corrections on my sedulous tallies
of tides the heart has taken in
given out, or given up.
These are not erasable
but sometimes she
strikes out a line
changes my totals
with her flickering hand,
all in pencil, all by moonlight remote
and hard as hammers;
but the sun is her bright clown, only
on fire to fill her midnight eye,
so who am I
not to dance along?
last day of June, 2025
posted for Word Garden Word List at
Images: Aurora vortex, author unknown, via internet Fair Use
Dark Dancers, ©Gina Jacob Fair Use
