Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview

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Fear of Eros


It's a poem.

Any egghead could have told you that the moon

was in eclipse. And I, as soon

as some dog's proem

led me to consider myself one

with all the world, and the eclipse begun,

was ushered out

of euphoria to gloom, and then to lawn,

to find light clouds, and howling, and the moon


I was deceived

each way I looked, for night

laid house and bushes softer with its light

than I'd perceived

possible in the evening or by day,

and every trace or old choice of a way,


in the not-too-far unmapped,

now lay docile and ghost-like, rapt and sapped

and quite unfearing

beneath a sky that never knew a moon.

In place of hoped despair, the bitter boon:

cloudy, and light

birdsong at three o'clock. Oh, God, a day —

the earth's come back, from not five hours away.

And where is night?

Eclipsed again by these

howls and songs of earthly fantasies.


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