The Returning

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The moon, held suspended on a cloud

like a jewel in an outstretched palm

that clenched its fist

over a creative instrument

that prisms the light to beam through the sky.

From this vantage,

see the night thaw into a fleeting image

of my own willingness

to let the past be prologue

and memory become notes in a ship’s log

bound for East Point

painted on the horizon

like a raised birthmark over a darkened skin,

it’s set in its own isolation.

Through the El Greco sky of the mind,

unsteady in the swirl of shade and light,

poles teeter on the edge of each other ,

delicately dancing in the glow.

Where it beckons you’ll follow,

tracing lines to their inevitable ends,

leaving a progeny of words

strung against words

like a procession of lanterns

engulfed by waves

extinguished candles of breath

that craved oxygen,

building up only to give in to collapse.

All the thoughts and differing shades of meaning

shifting the gleam to tide pools cascading

from an overarching theme,

where everything is passing through.

For a moment the moon holds true,

weightless and suspended in a bubble of foam.

A perfect circle, timeless, eternal,

always returning home.

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4 thoughts on “The Returning

  1. I had to read this twice and remember the Moon while I did. It was easy to get lost into trying to figure it out on a personal level. If I remembered it was the moon, everything else fell into place. I understand the sleight of words that you think only you understand because of their esoteric nature. But the moon is a vantage point and it is all very clear the more I read it. Thanks, Dom!

  2. Peter says:

    I love the Moon Dom. Its the unconditional friend I always had. I can tell from the poem the moon is special to you on many levels. I enjoyed the ride reading it. Thanks Dom.

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