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"The Wobbling Moon" by Merril D. Smith

The world courses on

arhythmic heartbeats, now too fast, now too slow--

vulture-winged clouds swoop, then fly, circling

just beyond range. No storm tonight.

But soon. Earth pulses, resetting tides rise and fall,

each wave similar, each unique, vanishing in a tumbling froth,

kissing the sand.

Astronomers say the moon wobbles,

and I watch her, waiting for the hiccup

in her song. But she gazes at me,

silver and serene,

with merely a slight tremolo in her hum.

Merril D. Smith writes from New Jersey, where she walks along the Delaware River. Her poetry has been published most recently in Black Bough Press, Anti-Heroin Chic, Fevers of the Mind, Sledgehammer, and Dead Skunk.

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