In which he blames her infidielity
on a throw-away society
My heart drops
down
when I see a crescent moon
unhook herself
from a covey of clouds,
pause in false fullness,
then glide blithely
after others
flitting by
on the far side of the night.
You are the moon.
You move
brightly -- lover to lover
then another,
eager
to spend your lifetime
using up
the entire sky.
Timothy Pilgrim