Tonight the man in the moon

has huge blind eyes,

a mother’s eyes, caved in

and cancelled by a boy’s

across a table. --Mama?...Mama?... He tried

to make her face not hold so still.

Between them, on the Help Wanted,

her pen lay where it fell.

So he stole away

to bed, to his picture book

of comets and nebulae.

They glowed like flavored ice in the black

expanding page that pulled

their green red hair

out wild

till it was everywhere.

                                                                                                    The Rialto #83 (2015) (UK)