Or the fingernail crescent.
Even the moon so new,
it remains visible
to none of us.
But what about this moon?
Shining over the Hess gas station
illuminating soiled snow,
the stippering drunkard,
my mittened hand?
It is two days past whole --
uneven, warped, imperfect.
More lovely than any I have ever beheld.
(cc) Karen G. Johnston
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