My response to Jennifer Knoblock’s poem in response to the MoonArk article. Link to the article on Jennifer’s page.
A can of dreams washed up in pale, dry dust,
Among motionless shreds of unshed moonlight,
Filled with tiny drops of blood and words,
Images and oh so dearly crafted outpourings.
Who will leave their prints to over-pattern,
Obliterate the spider prints of wordy, worthy poets,
The colour-collaged dapplings of artistic souls?
The slender, sophisticated fingers of our hopes,
Gentle and wise, our saviours from the great beyond?
Or the coarse paw of some cosmic Hun,
Standing triumphant on the useless, sacred moon rock,
Gazing upon our tender, teeming, rudderless blue,
And crushing our flimsy can of dreams,
In an all too familiar barbaric fist?