A day shimmies in,
your feathers ruffle with winter air.
A full moon hangs behind you, dissected by wires,
competing with a cold dawn sun.
I shiver for these Rubicons’ futures,
our mimic engineering to overcome.
You stare stoic, preaching to ancient Greeks.
Telling the world this is winter, in a modern era,
concrete terraces miss trees
the moons brings tides,
a single day can be a mountain climb,
nights as vast as summer drought
in Australia it’ll pass quick.
And your eye never wavers,
your sulphur bloom remains high.
All four of us indeterminate in our premise
but virtuous adherents, perfect tenants.
If a moon and sun meet each other with a smile,
you can decorate a power line.
Clare L Rolfe © 2024
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