Durid Dreaming by G.A. Saindon

After the creaking of the half,
the irksome shuffling of the final quarter,
my moon is fully quiet this evening,
quiet in her refulgent orb,
the diffusion of her ravishing aura
across light years of occupied space
devouring, swallowing the soon-forgotten
idling in her path, those feeble sparks,
those stars, so many dust motes on the cape
of night.

Yes, my moon, her majesty, my
shadow’s creator, this shadow
who knows more than I
how the moon, when full of that
narcotic dazzle, thralls
us all, frees no one.

We two slouch in loutish wonder,
stupefied, pacified to be wherever
two or more of us are gathered
in her shimmering dominion.

G.A. Saindon lives on five acres in northeast Wisconsin, has one wife, seven kids and eight grandkids whom he loves and delights in minute by minute.  12 of his poems have been published this year in various journals, and none of his poems were published in the 35 years previous.  His college degrees are not his identity, but they helped him land a job.  He’s 63 now, retired, and finds time well spent sitting by his pond to watch wildlife, wary of him, go about their business.

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