The English Classroom


The moon is a slice of blood orange

Settled into black soup

And the stars are specks of juice

Mist among an echo

The blood orange is ripening

Turning its citrus carcass around

And now it fades and the orange peels into the ocean

A bounty of white gold boils

The moon is boiling in the water

The curling of waves reminds me of cymbals

A resonating top-hat concluding a melody

Lightning crashes across distant lands

Pulsing white light rising from the water

And then everything is silent and everything is black

The muteness of night settled into the beach

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