Splendor

Old Mr. Rictus beside the yew shrub, moon
coming up behind him like a halo,
though I'm not buying any of it. Halooo,
he says, long, a Holstein mooing.
Out for your evening constitutional? Smiles.
Yes, to air is bovine. I've come some miles
myself. Come some miles to find myself here
now, before your small self to suffer,
as they say, the little Chileans. I raise
an eyebrow and turn to home. The moon's rays
bathe the street in a kind of splendor
and walking under the arching, shining leaves
I'm, for a moment, in spite of him, relieved
of the weight inside my chest, of its terrible and/or.

Copyright © 2006 Steve Kronen All rights reserved
from Splendor
BOA Editions Ltd.
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission