Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview

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In love, and leaving;

I read the signs on all faces.

Moving on, moving

heart and furniture, stripped, bare,

save what memento of old places

serves to set up house somewhere.


My roots are buried.

Dig deep. All you will find

is a continent of hair roots that the mind

calls disarray, passages hurried

in transportation from wide earth to plant,

windowed hallways tipped to the sun's slant.


Moving on, memories in the roots.

What will become of the past's tunnels

spaded out by those now leaving?

Will the earth fill in and get new shoots

rocked by a mole-like heaving?

My scattered life drives down as through a funnel.


What is love in this dim underground

where root and upheaval

testify to the earth that my heart has found

fecundity beyond the blight or weevil's

cerebral killing? Where is love

when deep in earth blind to what blooms above?


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