Next Month I Will Be Gone

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Next Month I will be Gone

 

I called her the Fire Moon

rising burnt orange

over cottonwoods

whose heart shaped leaves

rustled inĀ  harmony.

 

Next month I will be gone.

 

Subdued, I watched

the moon in silence,

feeling my body

pulling me earthward

heaving with sorrow.

 

Next month I will be gone.

 

I watched her

become a luminous white pearl

As she climbed

high in the sky.

I bow to her will:

The cycles of change.

 

Next month I will be gone.

 

A single hummingbird

landed on a tree branch

under our white moon blossom

marking the moment.

 

Next month I will be gone.

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