Monday

supermoon1

a day to honour the night
beacon in the darkness and emptiness of space
that outshines stars, showers silver,
sows furrowed fields with pale light,
sails cloudy seas, rocking at crescent.

All this day of wind and mud and cold rain,
I have looked for the shadow behind
the monochrome skeletons of sky trees
and its lining of pure light.

I have peered through shafts of rain
searched tree boughs where pigeons perch
waiting for the storm to pass and seen
beyond the ridge of the night
the flash of steel and heard the clash of arms

of Tuesday.