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Valley of the Moon
by Greg Gregory

The moon winks.
The eye draws out its thoughts
as it rises in the night sky.

It kisses through the window.
It brings us the fruit of its illusions.
It brings us our own ghosts.

My mother told me the story
of her pure white kitten. One day
it was stolen off the porch of her house.

She was just a girl.
She still remembered it
when she died at 70.

The moon stares
like a cat's eye
lost in the night sky.

We hold coins in our hands
like small moons.
We touch them like memories.
We try to hold what isn't there.
The moon shines like a bright coin.


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