the summer moon’s quiet touch
caressed
like a kiss, stirring my thought to a riot;
memories forgotten rose
from the abyss of my mind —
reaching out like trees
to the sun in June.
ideas spread, entangled vines of peas
ready for me to shape and prune.
as i reached for one, glittering like crytsal,
my fingers were stopped by a high bar;
everything stopped — suddenly shot by a pistol
that sang out like a sad guitar,
squelching thoughts that had brooded
in me–
waiting to be concluded.
