L'aura del Campo

In our hundredth moon of separation

A still-life of Mira holding a raw pepper in her hand like an apple, eating it like an apple.



[In our hundredth moon of separation]

In our hundredth moon of separation
your voice smiles, no desperation;
I weep despair.

And hearts that care cannot solace eyes
that see the moon, the same moon
shining down on you.

Oh, to seize the moon!
to hitch a ride on moon beams, slide
into your waking dreams,
awake your heart.

But in the hundredth moon of separation,
only my voice echoes desperation;
your eyes neither weep nor care.

© Kåre Enga 2010-10-09 [167.219]



100 moons equals 3 months or 7 to 8 years. The ambiguity doesn't matter. Just another poem of loss and longing. I have more than a few. Title? Trying to catch up on editing poems. I have quite a backlog. Been writing.



I've picked up a book on limnology (fresh water biology). Got a D in college in the course I took (had other things on my mind...). Time to learn words like psammon.

The sun sets. It may frost tonight after a cold day.

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