Four A.M. Gazing
A tangential full moon was riveted
At the torpor dew of the late dawn
Have you seen how bloated ‘twas?
How ripe still it was at four AM?
No? You didn't even pry,
You have surmised a sunrise.
Well, let me fondle your metal vault,
Macadamized by forking soirées
Clad with a spurious shallow varnish,
The morning moon was ominously peering
Trough the notches of every window
Through the nicks of every undulated sleep
Like an ominous darting eye in torsion
Austerely ashen, sedentary, and pregnant
Just as the reflection of my own petrified orbits
As the crow flies into her grating unwavering stare
I trampled into a staid and hapless meandering
If there's, at least, one restless owl beseeching
And gazing bemused by the argot of the torn horizon
Staring back into the moon, even in a trifle,
Like staring into her own reflection and its stains
No one. No one, from where I raise and lay my head
Cloys the daunting moon or even try to count
The omnibus luminaries and assemble
A memory of the scene, unmarred and purged,
To gaze them in one's inertness in sleep
Like how a connoisseur and clandestine jester
Would muse upon a city or sit in a revelry,
In a fashion that no eyes would ever see
That he is picking up shards in his discreet corner;
Shards of unsullied bliss and of oblivion.
And if you haven't followed my gazing
Hear me amass the beauty of it again
You, a dilettante in a feeble ballast,
Gazing is when you had pursued my chase
And not in reading through my eccentric taste.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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