The day moon’s palest at the noon,
a lilac angel’s pistol, gray, exquisite.
A threat of exit, a thin balloon,
A bullet hole of nightly visit.
Lilac angel’s pistol, gray, exquisite,
hint of death without the yellow eye.
The bullet hole of night’s bold visit,
She’s determined not to hide.
The hint of death in palest eye,
A look reflected in the mirrored glass.
She’s bold, determined not to hide
the memories of disquiet past.
She watches me from rippled glass
So I worry–the lake-cried loon!
Like memories of disquiet past
The day moon’s palest at the noon.
