Edging to the far end of Spring's first month.
The clock hands will slip forward tonight. Time melts.
Winter's ghost sings in the night wind. Another new moon is nearly begun.
When two new moons fall in one month, the second is called a black moon. It makes a cauldron of the sky, fills it with unknown things, with a power to catalyst.
We can write phenomenal lists.
We can think of all that we wish; entireties of other lives; swimming, dreaming, in unbounded dark.
Morning comes as a brink.


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