Work

The moon is fuzzy on the curve,

Holes speckled through

Then black.

I wonder if you're looking at it

200 miles away,

Drinking FranZia from a beer mug 

Lighting pall malls like me.

I wonder if you remember the weathered bronze ashtray, 

The fading red paint outside my old place.

I wonder if maybe I imagined you

Like the moon imagines an edge,

All fuzzy

Then black.

-------

I wrote that.

-loch