Have you heard the story about
the Grandfather night and his brazen
Grandmother moon and all of their brilliant, golden grandchildren
like thousands of trick birthday candles that refuse to be
who arrange themselves into words
and connect-the-dot diagrams,
spelling out the dreams and wishes of children
and whose burning flames dash across
Grandfather’s face in luminescent lines, flickering
behind his aged wrinkles, his patchy, clouded flesh
while his moon peers on, blank-faced?
What a shame, it’s timeless.
– M. Ray Hall