63 The Glorious Moon by Grace Thornsbury my feet fall into slippery grooves long abandoned by everyone but me— a fool, I ask for you—alone. the moon, full and real, sheds its coat of clouds, a waterfall it is still the moon a poem a face and I still feel these sidewalks in my bones—I am wearing the clouds like a blanket—your gift to me is this poem —the sidewalks, the grooves, the face, the moon.
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