<\/p>\n
Tonight is the night
\nof the Dirty Moon,
\nwhere dust and scrub
\nshow up thumbprint
\non the lunar face.
\nVisible here on Earth
\nfor only a speck,
\nshowing itself quiet
\nin July or maybe
\nNovember. No one
\ntalks about the Dirty
\nMoon the way no one
\ntalks about the second
\nLove goes cold, maybe
\none less phone call,
\none less kiss, or
\nthe way your parents
\ngo see-through,
\ntranslucent on
\ntheir way to being
\ngone. But tonight,
\nright now, a dog
\nis howling it out.
\nHe is alone
\nin a field, around
\nhim the worry
\nof wheat, a shush,
\na soft wind trying
\nto quiet him, his snout
\nfull up, his mouth open
\nwide into the night.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Francine Witte Tonight is the night of the Dirty Moon, where dust and scrub show up thumbprint on the lunar face. Visible here on Earth for only a speck, showing itself quiet in July or maybe November. No one talks about the Dirty Moon the way no one talks about the second Love goes […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":8378,"template":"","categories":[9,49,119],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8376","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-literary-features","category-poetry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n