Wednesday, 29 July 2015

MOONBRIGHT by Dannie Abse


Afterwards, late, walking home from hospital,
that December hour too blatantly moonbright
 - such an unworldly moon so widely round,
an orifice of scintillating arctic light -

I thought how the effrontery of a similar moon,
a Pirandello moon that would make men howl,
would, in future, bring back the eidolon
of you, father, propped high on pillow
your mouth ajar, your nerveless hand in mine.

At home, feeling hollow, I shamelessly wept
- whether for you or myself I do not know.
Tonight a bracing wind makes my eyes cry
while a cloud dociles an impudent moon
that is and was, and is again, and was.

Men become mortal the night their fathers die. 

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