Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview

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The organ plays in a thousand arching churches

 

a thousand sons against their mothers' knees

leaning;

sun gliding the paths wet with glittering snares;

the unfaithful rise from their beds to a rainy

morning.

 

Death walks the long paths. Under the leaves he is

hiding

from the children, only drawing an explicit trace

down their spines, and drying the veins in the

garden

with sunlight that buries the dew in chords of

silence.

 

Let us run from this richness, death and children

and rains

breeding, decaying: green pollen and pale children.

Somewhere above the organ lone figures are shearing

the branches of trees with neat and darkening

direction.

 

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