The moon in the bureau mirror looks out a million miles (and perhaps with pride, at herself, but she never, never smiles) far and away beyond sleep, or perhaps she's a daytime sleeper
By the Universe deserted, she'd tell it to go to hell, and...
IN are the night-skirts left
By daybreak hours that onward creep,
And thin, alas
the shred of
At dawn the panther of the heavens peers over the edge of the world.
She hears the stars gossip with the sun, sees the moon washing her lean
darkness with water electrified by prayers. All over the world there are those
who can't sl...