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His Goodnight Moon

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The moon knows when a soul

wanes to a sliver of light.

Eternity dwells in the world

between breaths. A star falls

in a tear. An old crescent moon

harvests the glow from the

child’s face, draws his spirit home.

When a memory of light reveals

River Styx, sun and moon

stir the tide. Darkness bears

a new phase. Nothing remains

but the curve of his smile

on the waxing moon.

 

— t. l. cummings

First published in Songs of Eretz Poetry Review

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