Within Reach

There are two images,         a moon within reach         yet trapped under snow -         an old woman's threadbare shawl         with peasants furiously working brooms         scraping ice shavings         into howls and husks of frenzy.         Ii         Then the same pond,         this time summer         with fishing nets,         and briefer shawls         pirating light's wanton swoon,         a spyglass hour moon         all bathed in yellow         colour of kerosene          - a rich creamy butter -         goldilocks let out on weekends         her spun, golden tresses         lowered onto the water         like so many little boats         nimbly hopping aboard.         lii         A kerchief folded on a fence         a man wearing an overcoat living there         in white satin swooning         to the pianist's expert touch         down magic chambers         soothing, soothing there         to fold and tear         the pileated moonlit edge         of her skin.