The Worm Moon

A Worm Moon arises
high overhead;
a hole in the sky;
a well, water fed.

No silhouette figure
ever appears;
abandoned, this well,
everyone fears.

A sky overhead;
it never is clear.
Clouds cover up
what blue may be there.

Never a figure
appears overhead.
Abandoned, it is,
the owners all dead.

And once, at one time,
did something move past
the rim of the well,
but it moved too fast

to see what it was –
not that it matters;
perhaps what it was
never needs water.

A wormhole above,
from down here below.
If one dare to breech it,
perhaps it would show

that we are not worms
and this not a hole;
but Worm Moon glowing
just silver, not gold.

©2016, Marvin Welborn
24 March 2016. Revised 25 Mar 16.

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