Crescent moon approaching midnight
August quiet disappearing change
in the air arc
of the arrow bending
not down so much
as toward another target
not yet quite visible
but looming just beyond
the trees imagine time
standing in the shadows
a breath held long
enough to enter into
the dead calm darkness
outside, that now begins
its own slow respiration
under the silvered skies.
under the silvered skies.
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