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  • Gary Hunter

Without a Moon - August 7, 2020

in this black sky there is

no passion fruit to pluck

off the night’s branch

no floating pearl in the

dark sea to reach for

perhaps tonight he’s at his second job

the pagan god of misery

a blemish on the skin of ignorance

a puncture on God’s great body

bleeding light

just when my desire seems immovable

heaven slips some wind under

my wings pours wine into

my mouth and cheers

with angelic shouts

my launched flight

of hope


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