The Voice Issue 30: July/August 2017 - Page 54



Silver Fingers

I spoke to the moon yesterday,

about why the wind blows.

It said that the wind has a way,

a way that only it knows.

The moon, so seemingly far away,

caressed my face with a silver finger;

a gentle flicker of light traced my face,

from my jaw to my temple.

He told me I still had much to learn.

After many gusts of wind

shook the juniper branches,

the moon winked goodbye.

A golden beacon rose to relieve the moon;

he sulked as his body retired to the horizon.

Although I could no longer see his light,

I still felt the wind

and it reminded me

of him.

-semacdonald, Sheldon, VT