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The moon is a beacon

July 27, 2015

A thousand miles away,
a thousand miles up,
the moon is a beacon.

The moon saw the fires
in the Canadian prairies.
The dry forests saw the torches
of white flame at the tops
of Atlantic waves.
The shifting ocean mountains saw the glow
of faerie dresses in Highland mist.
The thin places saw the gleam
of Siberian ice immemorial.
The untouched winter saw the white
on the underside of the albatross
over the Pacific.
The Prince of Waves saw the flicker
of the streetlight
on the corner of Waterton and McKinley,
and the weak golden bulb
saw a plea in the back of my mind.

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