The moon hangs high
in the western sky
like a pearl broach
pinned delicately onto the
front of a velvet
mourning coat worn by
widows at the cemetery
slowly slipping behind the
mountains like the hugs
of attending well wishers
and will in a
few hours be replaced
by the sparkling pendant
of the sun as
the widow night takes
her leave and abandons
her misery for day
hoping for something better