September moon, slivered of self, how cold
Your evenings of wistfulness - glad moon
Of summer’s passage. Proud moon, do you hold
Any tenderness, do you wane the runes

To eternity’s address? September
Moon, I die before your eyes unimpressed.
The hills are brown, the Monsoon gone, under
The all are your weeping sighs, human-fed.

Full-mooned in brief, passing becomes relief.
Shadowed moon, slivered and bright, take my rays,
Release my plight! Nights are dark, light is brief,
Those 'somehows' don’t equate to better days.

Nined by elevens, you fall, tower-tall
And frail, framed by Mankind’s Gods to stay small.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 9/29/06