The moon sits so menacingly in the sky,
looking flat across the world,
like a god getting a good look,
at what he's about to stomp on.
Its like a bad omen.
It's cold after a sweltering day,
but this wind doesn't bring relief,
Master Moon has nothing but cruelty to whisper.
A snap in the air that pulls your chest tight,
leaving you breathless,
hiding indoors,
from the cruel sun's even meaner consort.
The usual dog barks are missing.
The trucks on the highway are gone.
Even the Summer came to my window,
wrapping his long fingers around the sill,
begging me to tell what's going on.
but I don't know.
He's cuddled up by my dogs from the cold.
Perhaps the sun will tell him tomorrow.
I asked whether he'd tell me tomorrow night,
but he's out cold.
At least my coffee is warm,
and I smirk at the moon,
he who can't come into my house.
My gates are warded from his ilk.
-o0o-
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