The full moon blooms
as other moons have done,
but this one comes, huge,
straddling the year:

the days grow shorter
minute by minute
winter a hand’s span away
in October’s solace.

When the full moon comes
to herald the ending, what
will I have done to exorcise
love’s dust?

Here the full moon comes
hung between the crab and
the goat, I’ll take a piece of us
into the garden and bury;

in peaty earth. an incantation
at the ready, underneath the roses
I should have dead headed.

Yes, I‘ll take the last piece of us:
morsels of our hearts raw shredded,
by passing time and other loves
caresses. It might be now we hide

our eyes in shame, at passing
years and potions of forgetting,
….que dieu nous pardonne……
for all of loves erratic wrongs

when the full moon comes.