Poem Category: High Moon

high moon
most of the herb beds
mint-scented

high moon
our bike rides alone
in black and white

high moon
the turtles walk around me
back to the sea

high moon
my absent child
may well look to

high moon
the little town school
that father taught

high moon
only the geese honk of it
a fog filling the lake

high moon
with the pond frogs bloated
now they fight

high moon
the motel cabins
speared with frost

high moon …
their crispness tightening
in the apple skins

high moon
a buttercup pushes out
from a ribcage