Rainbow Gift

by grimbeau



The moon is a rock,

a rock that drives the tide.

The affairs of men

must heed the tide.


An old Moon woman told me that,

I didn’t listen,

talking in runes

I concluded.


But the tide in the affairs

of this man

left me high and dry

waiting for a new moon.


Sat marooned, sat in the offing,

bobbing in the

Sea of Tranquillity.

Another man in the moon.


We are a close knit


keep ourselves to ourselves

as much as we can.


Sometimes when the sun’s

brute sirocco blasts things go haywire,

but you got to take the rough

with the smooth sometimes,


whether you remember

the smooth or not.