By Thomas Page

Oceans of the Moon

Dressed in telescope’s mirrors

On morning windshields.

 

Frost melting like the

Dawn into bright morning sun–

Apollo’s Commute.

 

The fallen snow grays

As it sees more of the day

Which will destroy it.

 

The perennials

Like the annuals

Seem faded in the freezing breeze.

 

Black ice, infused with

The concrete, mimic the road

Especially well.

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