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A Page Of Sky; The Listening Moon by Susan Kay Anderson

A Page of Sky


Moon, a smoky melt

pasted. Hangs. Wavers.

Last night flashes.

Cool smell in dry grass.

Northern lands so warm.

Built stupidly.

Lower branches of trees

removed for visibility.

For the long view.

Not for this heat.

They said you could walk on the forest beneath you so tiny were the birch

and brush even small wooden stems of hundreds of years under neon green.

The nearby hills are grey with snowfields even in summer and his jacket

keeps out mosquitos I remember swimming in the old dredge ponds

This night what’s left

of burning? No smoke—

the freeze of sun

(clouds) whisper

a sweet nothing.


what was left and their muddy banks the water full of leeches who cared

the rivers so icy cold there were not moments just seconds to dip in

gold eyeshadow for us to play with and water so clear we drank it.

The Listening Moon


This night what’s left of burning? No smoke

but headache in my back. Even natural foods

wilt the freeze of sun. Come to me

my little ones! (clouds) whisper

a sweet nothing or two with sugar

down a page of sky so absent. 

Moon turning flamey smokey melt.

Pasted WAVERY. Last night flashes

 cool smell dry grass. Lower branches

removed for visibility. Long view

this heat. The sea a warm blanket.


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