John William Waterhouse – ‘Echo and Narcissus,’ Wiki commons

Cruel slant of a moon
that could be a fang
or a hook,
a nail,
or a cat’s claw
stuck to the sky,
pulling it down
gloating,
feeding
until it’s full—

but the moon looks empty,
full

like it wants for something
it can never have,

like it knows each month
it goes hollow again,

and can only be that way
for a day.

Categories: poetry

Tags: addiction, dry January, moon poetry, William Pearse writer