Mottled because of mountains,
a completed disc high over and above us,
dishy, awesome and radiant,
stretches necks to wonder
if she might fall,
might fly away at warp 9,
wander into our waiting room
to be a guest of zoom.
She suspends darkness,
is Ariel, aerialist without a wire,
kind of monocle, monocycle,
gyroscope without the spinning.
Stakes out our chimneys,
goal posts, cricket crease,
somnambulant garden’s sulky black
catches a burglar’s low down act
full in the face,
catches a creeping cat’s low down coat
across pitch lines and lawn areas,
turns dew into jewels,
oak backdrops into sequined stars,
coming through Aztec curtains,
lunisolar to indicate, illuminate
There is silver, lining the cat’s yellow fur,
it blooms poached egg plant-like,
kicked by a moribund moon-faced boozer,
home gate-crash via the back fence.
He scrambles back in time for scrambled egg, but
cross because his black dense cover drops,
drops him in it,
guilty silhouette and crass recidivism,
into the cross hairs of his partner’s
raptor red-eye sight,
lunate tongue, scimitar sharp,
case-hardened to cut a hard case easily.
The lunatic anticipates rapture, but
caught out as ice-white disbelief
sees through his alleged moonlighting crap.