I tried again, in the shadow of the moon,
to leave a word of peace behind.
Sowing the winds, where earlier in the day –
the road dust arose from cobblestones,
and ringing songs fell in bell tones.
I jumped along, in the shadow of the moon
with no peace at all in my mind.
No poem to break the noise away,
I hear out among the busy drones
with ringing songs that fail and moan.
I paused and sat, in the shadow of the moon
deciding that my place in kind
is not a published communique.
These words are simply what I own.
They ring the songs, and that’s well-known.
a poem about poems and publishing and rejection.