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Chapbook:


June 1 – a Saturday
We began in June.
Magnolias were in full bloom —
Knot was tied in light.


June 2 – a Sunday
In the bloom of love,
in the shade of wingéd Mark,
in Titian we’ll bask.



June 3 – a Monday
Days of sweetest moons
reflect our shy boldness —
And our two is one.



June 4 – a Tuesday
Sun is blushing bold.
Espresso’s spilled on terrace —
Aurora rushes.


June 5 – a Wednesday
Breathe the newborn air,
breathe as if you’re with me there,
looking out to sea.



June 6 – a Thursday
Look to sea and see
there’s promise in beginnings —
Ruddy cheeks of love.



June 7 – a Friday
Week is almost done.
Week is gaining on the sun —
Silent ticking sum.



June 8 – a Saturday
Bliss marched into dawn.
Poet rests on the shaded lawn —
Thus his glory fades.



June 9 – a Sunday
On our morning step
we bathe our ancient story in —
Chiesa d’Oro.



June 10 – a Monday
Canal water rests
and waxing light strikes old stones —
Feet meet older flags.



June 11 – Tuesday
The gondola rocks
Canaletto’s panoply calls —
Mark’s bells swallow us.



June 12 – a Wednesday
Our scented day sees
seas of Cleopatra’s barge —
Sounds of fluted strokes


June 13 – a Thursday
then my inner eye
sees her scent her purple sails
and my breath I catch!



June 14 – a Friday
Beauty catches us
in the quarter of our moon.
Our hands clasped. We’re spent.



June 15 – a Saturday
Ever sweetest moon.
T’was Nineteen in twenty-nine —
a sparrow on the rail.



June 16 – a Sunday
Waxing gibbous moon
lays her light upon our June —
Oh, her lasting boon.



June 17 – a Monday
Still I’ve kept her glow.
Spared not of sorrow or years —
and joy piled on joy.



June 18 – a Tuesday
Thunder woke our day.
The bed tempted us to stay —
Thunder in the hay.



June 19 – a Wednesday
Then Saint Mary t’was
by grace to heaven assumed —
By Titian beguiled.



June 20 – a Thursday
My Tiepolo swayed,
a simple graceful sashay —
Love, Rococo style.



June 21 – a Friday
Today you’ve come
to hear my years told to you —
my pains upon joys



June 22 – a Saturday
There is no night that
I have not thought on this month —
this ancient sweet moon.



June 23 – a Sunday
All our joys were mixed
in this our headiest days —
Hardships come on quick.


June 24 – a Monday
We almost lost him
in the summer of our youth —
A fevered sickness struck.


June 25 – a Tuesday
Kollwitz’ Death pounced.
Sallow eyes in sorrow stared.
I was ever done.



June 26 – a Wednesday
Beauty took a turn;
she’s veiled in darkest veil.
He is empty still.



June 27 – a Thursday
A cold sweat drenched him.
Venice beauty melts away —
I can only pray



June 28 – a Friday
I feared the worst.
I feared that our house would fall —
O, my Romeo.



June 29 – a Saturday
His heat died, not he.
There would be no you, no me —
No years in our years.



June 30 – a Sunday
I had him, he, me.
We had our sweetest moon —
You’re our Venice, fleshed.




© rl busséll 2019 – All rights reserved

One comment on “Sweetest Moon

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