This Moon This full moon, the first since your passing catches me by surprise. A slit in the curtain reveals its misty-grey fullness blurred in the wintry night sky. A snow squall of white sparrows murmurs against its edges. The stars crumble as the storm rumbles by. Silver dust turns to ink. I pen words of love and sorrow, fill mason jars with water, leave them to collect the glow. Outside I dress myself in snow and moonlight until clouds sweep the sky shadowing our sad house its shutters lowered like eyes heavy-lidded with grief.
© Susan J. Atkinson