The moon in a cup

things fragile in gift shops

Dangerous place for the clumsy

Chipped, dropped, fractured

Hastily taped together

trace the deliberate imperfections

..who…puts old wine… skins?

His parables of hide stitched  

Into a cup

Filled with the moon 

Excuse me, to the…

To the moon and back

My love

No trip for the faint of heart 

Till you say

I would never say

You were just an accidental poet

Shoulders back, wing-perfect posture

You emerge from mid-morning 

Incidental hibernation

Lament- second to last,

Second to last

Explain it is not the tighties you mind

But the dull, uneventful patternless white

I must not forget these words fixed in light 

till you say?

Just a little bit…just a little bit

…but you said, no! You. Just. Said. No.

Child of perfect posture 

Butterfly wings

Please, please always, always

Fly home, my little winged one.