The moon has left the sky, love.
Her aria has ended.
The courts of sparkling fans
from concert hall descended.
The sun is on the rise, love.
His temper spiking swiftly.
As anger peaks, analemma;
the sun and moon aren't speaking.
The moon is in her change-room, love.
Her cheeks powdered white,
In sequin suit, she waits nervously
to climb the stage of night.
Somewhere below horizon, love,
the sun begins to nudge.
When his radiant and splendid bride appears,
he quickly drops his grudge
in hopes that that he might catch a wink,
before the curtains budge.
©2024 | K.F. Hartless
Cover Art: Analemma Painting by Eva Helyes
Prompt: Write a poem that begins with a line from another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it. My poem’s first line is taken from the poem, “Night of Love” by Paul Laurence Dunbar.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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