By Jennifer Cahill
The new moon
is of a chilled northern night.
It is unseen as it fluxes the sea.
On the Midnight edge
of this sea there rests a graveyard,
whose ethereal voice is sung
by the sterling glitter
of the Winter sky. The graveyard’s solitude
is a wish that slips away..
The tombs have missal tints,
host the souls of dark storm clouds
who knife the tumultuous oceans
with searing streaks of light;
who toss the shine of a moon-bow;
and bandage the deep heavens.
Jennifer Cahill earned a Masters of Science in Administrative Studies from Boston College. She has published the poems The Foxy Neutrino and War in the Distance is Better with Arkansas Technical College(2020), and Dusk Colored Wings with The Voices Project(August 25, 2020); Gods Feast on Lost Moons with Tempered Runes(2020). She lives in Massachusetts with her cat ‘Tilly.’