The waning gibbous, less than full, its edges frayed where the darkness descends.
I think of all the hearts broken this year, all the lives extinguished.
But always, the moon, waning and waxing, always disappearing, then reappearing,
just like the spirits of our lost loves ones, always returning with our memories,
like the breath, the wave, they come and go, though they're always there.
~New Year's Eve 2020
Acton, MA
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