tonight the moon stares,
teetering on the brink
of speech
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tonight the moon stares,
teetering on the brink
of speech
something you name,
something you can’t, and
shadows both cast
a reed, gray
and broken, floating
downstream
piles of dropped
blossoms—my haiku,
your clutter
a voice drops
and fades, a face rises
and sinks
sitting on steps
I saw a beetle lumbering and
closed my eyes
if you find
this message, please
read it