as once we did under a rancid moon
if a child wine did in winsome moons so slide
the hard snow down the wide-eyed dusk
to chill mine and theirs and more beside
was this knot of boys shred of their husk
moon boys that sledged the flared
blue breath of secret nights
and in this their exhilaration shared
the rarest of rare just-mights
for when the hearth fades
into the monochrome
and when the gossamer threads
are as thin as thin from home
the boys will be the boys of naughty
nights buttered under a rancid moon
and will toboggan from abandon’s haughty
heights to crash out all but too soon
as the moon sets and slips these childhood
tears frozen blue on stinging fingers
the boys grips fail and fall and no good
night in this their old age lingers
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