My Dear Friend

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After Two Men Contemplating the Moon, 1825-1830, by Casper David Friedrich

A haze of midnight blue softened
by a haze of daylight orange
rests upon the sky.

There’s a tangled twist 
of creeping tree roots,

And broken rocks;
a cursed path.

We stood before the scene
for the centerpiece– 

The moon, a waxing crescent.

It had the haunting glow of a Siren,
the wicked grin of a ghoul, enticing 

and mimicking, it remains 
the object we’re so drastically 

fixated on. The lost woods, 

the lost hour, 
the lost minds 
of two, of us.

“What do you think?”

“What do you see?” 
an unwavering gaze,
an unthoughtful answer.

Napoleon’s wars raging.
Our old-style dress,
everything we knew

Taken

Except for
the moon,

this moment.

One is hunched, 
squinting, leaning
on the one with the cane, 

“Do you remember?”

The memory of the night fades.

“Yes, my dear friend, I remember.”

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