Moon 2

There is magic in rods and cones,
That suck light and make windfalls,
Of acetylcholine, swallowing the beauty on offer.
And through the cloud cover,
Like through a magician’s hat,
A rabbit emerges, trapped inside a circle
Decanting moonbeams through a funneling pupil,
For the audience to embrace
The paltry traffic of light,
Making impulses like the ocean waves,
A moon controlled epic for the lust
Of what knows only celestial glimmer,
And who only knows earthly gather,
And in that intercourse, you find
Little packets of wavelength-defined outbursts
That dissolve in the retina, to make solvation,
Beauty’s primal impression.

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