Poetry

The supermoon was rising with 
a great aplomb to shame the stars. 
 
At night the buttercups wage a war. 
Come unpretending, as you, not him, - 
 
on the lake, becoming a stranger to 
yourself. There ia an endless nocturnal confession. 
 
Do you know the poison tree blooms, 
when the golden eagle rises to take a dive 
 
on the row of funerals.