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The Moon: 22 Days Old
A man on the edge of man,
somewhere between cartoon and film noir,
Saturday stripped to the waist,
cider raised in homage to the changing light
and the busybody wasps.
At night a fire ball blazes
east to west over sleeping, fragrant heather,
taking our breath away
as we draw our clothes closer to the bone
and alabaster sheep with glass eyes
cross the lane
to lie down beneath their dirty blanket of sleep