Saturday, February 4, 2012

“Over the Moon. Under the

The moon rises
above the rocky spine of the island
chalking the
brittle harbour dusty white,
like an impatient
customs officer
telling us to go.

There is no colour
under this Aegean moon,
only a pallid sky.
It reaches unsympathetically
through the window
and marks PASSED across
your shoulders.

No stars in the
sky now,
but the floor is
still white with moonbeams.
They flow over
your toes
like spilt milk.
No use crying over

© Mike Absalom

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