by Christopher Raley The moon is a dirty yellow basket low on the edge of night’s walk where two wanderers carry it to sky or fall in with its horizontal suicide.
What evil is it craves this for a sign? Futures shift in swing of possible like a world of shadow in arc of a lamp. And the moon is born aloft by the wanderers.
Futures swing from one to the other. Evil fears death of longing which curses dark for absence of blessing. And the moon looks about to catch the wanderers.
What blessing is it grits its teeth when the lamp sets alight a thousand paths to one hated direction?