The Moon Is a Lemon Wedge

the moon is a lemon wedge over guadeloupe
in the night sky, its likeness swims bold
inside a cold, tall glass of rum & coke
standing on a table, on a white veranda wrapped
around an airy home somewhere around high noon,
on a bright, clear day, somewhere in sainte-anne,
as flamboyance bloom orange, high up,
or low-down in shimmering, lush green leaves,
beneath the sun's wicked eye, in a blue sky paraded by clouds
soft as cotton candy riding over forms of swimmers in emerald
warm Caribbean waters, but you are not there
except in your poetic imagination, but here, under this
starlit sky, right now, in all this blooming darkness,
driving the back roads of grande terre, on a clear night
& looming the moon is a lemon wedge suspended
above you, a still life in an artist's paint-splattered room,
a beacon wedge lodged inside a lover's dreaming bloom,
a milky-blind eye of ray charles, or stevie wonder

Copyright © 2007 Quincy Troupe All rights reserved
from The Architecture of Language
Coffee House Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission