My son lies a monochrome of the moon - the moon that throws the window on the floor marking a pale path of stepping-stones. I walk through her window to his bedside. She has crawled into even the small curl of his hands, coating him, as mercury does gold, with her light. And though we spin under her light; a small blue gall smudged with continents, wearing a ragged shawl of cloud, the moon is printed with our fate - apron stringed to us now by more than the fishhook drag of tides. She slips over the small corner of my clay. Her cool alloy clings to his cheek as I walk through her window leaving no mark on this side of space. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN PICCADILLY by ISAAC ROSENBERG DOROTHY DANCES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER AUTUMN WOODS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ODE TO TOBACCO by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY ODE SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL, CONCORD, JULY 4, 1857 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE MOSS ROSE by FRIEDRICH ADOLF KRUMMACHER |