The Very Verst of jwf: Staring Into a Teacup

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The Very Verst of jwf

Staring Into a Teacup

There it was
between my lip
and what passes for my cup.
A tidy moon, full and creamy,
sloshing the shores of teabone.

I hold this tempest in my hands
swhirling orbs
and waning arcs
of ebb and flow.

And when it's more
than more-than-half-empty
tide lines on this jar reveal
the circling crescents on the beach
as more and more of less and less
until there is new moon.

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