The sullenness of blue holds tight to the moon today. A jackal sketched transient, I am tied in orbit just the same. There are tales they say, of a darkside that no one but distant explorers would be surprised to see. Truth and territory, staked in tricoloured folds and pinned to look like the wind. And I wander in the silver of spent firelight, waiting for the storyteller. Waiting for the story. Something unfathomable to hold between my fingers. And the satellite of sunshadow, breathes silent answer with the death of words. Child. Walk with me. Dream with me. Come taste the chalk dust that falls so softly between the pillars of small steps and giant leaps. Damn moon, always was a troublemaker.
©2017 Jac Forsyth
*moon image courtesy of pintrest.com