The Moon Wanes

By John I. Blair

Each night I wait
Minutes later
For the moon to rise
Behind the elm.

It’s waning;
And I tell myself
This too will pass;
It will return.

But as the darkness
Spreads,
As the disk dims,
Dread whelms my mind:

This might be the time
I learn the eons lied,
The time
It really dies.

©2016 John I. Blair