Consider the solid, they said, the down to earth
ground and the way it tastes of sour dust and
spent gunpowder. 
Stop writing about the moon,
stop reflecting,
stop singing about lonely and dispossessed.
Nobody else looks for the dark side.
Be thankful for what you have.

What I have is a spent day mooning over
the way birds don’t look at the sun, the midday
moon, the lovely moon in a birdless sky.
How the ocean sighs and I sigh back at it.
Or was that a dolphin taking breath?
Consider the heavy-lidded gravestone
above a shallow depression.
Consider anti-depressants. Ones which taste
like dust and moon rocks.
This land is a thousand generations from ready.
The birds taste like gunpowder and tea.
Consider this the end.

---