Pewter Moonlight


Old men are writing poems
by pewter moonlight

They live in different parts of the world
but their pen unites them

Their blood is as thin as rivers
after winter floods and the
springtime dries them

Each of them writes his ode
to pewter moonlight

Their eyes ache from peering deep
into lamplight

They’ve seen the comings and goings
and sheep led to slaughter

The night no longer holds any
terrors for them

One ray of moonlight from the window
is enough to save them

The Holocaust is over and slavery and
cries of despair

New chains are on their way
with clanking regularity

Humankind often finds its better angels

Old men are writing poems
on rickety tables

Chrysanthemums wither in the
vases before they are done

Everything in reality takes place
by pewter moonlight

The sound of their pen scratch
is enough to heal the world

2/15/2008 (from The Fire Eater’s Lunchbreak)

Categories: Poems