Blind Man
This drizzle-dizzy Saturday night
Isn't the full-moon evening I'd believed it would be,
Rather a resounding letdown,
For this upper-Wisconsin rain,
Which has persisted despite a brief clearing at twilight.
No matter how I've prayed for the rain's negation,
It's come, by fitful fits and starts,
Canceling my most potent hopes for cessation
And, in its gray, dismal arrogance,
Denying me my prime desire to rise epiphanic,
Inspired by preternatural wonder,
On reaching the nexus of psyche and sky,
In the silver glow of destiny's sublime lunar ecstasy.
Yet, like a blind man, I've seen the full moon rise
Somewhere behind the eyes behind my mind.
06/26/10 - (4)
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