Orange moon teeters
above the horizon
like a ripe peach,
its bronze craters
home to writhing witches.
Soon the rising moon
will pale its ginger hue
like a bent old man
scaling celestial steps,
searching for immortality.
Orange moon teeters
above the horizon
like a ripe peach,
its bronze craters
home to writhing witches.
Soon the rising moon
will pale its ginger hue
like a bent old man
scaling celestial steps,
searching for immortality.
POETRY by Jerry McGinley 