October Moon

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By Lauren Nagy, Literary Editor

The sun kisses her leaves,

yellow, orange, ready for another end;

and as unto us the obscurity blows,

out comes the light in her purest form,

fatter or thinner or different again.

 

And no one to meet,

maybe there never was,

and maybe there won’t be soon;

I wouldn’t mind much.

 

So here sits I,

one with the black,

a mediocre gleam

in the secret patch of the october moon.

 

And come, there, a soul,

another of darkness,

that paces and scuffles up a bumpy street,

sits down with a tumble

and holds my hand warm.

And though our heartbeats don’t match

I feel fulfilled and free.