by Gwen Monohan
When the moon is full
from reflected light
left by our sun
as we slip into dark
toward another night,
I’m reminded
how things are often
not apparent
to the naked eye
or even an aided one.
How we may be duped
by sly magicians
with a deck of cards,
a sleight-of-hand, or
bunnies in their hats.
Or pigs-in-pokes
on romantic nights
when promises are made
by almost strangers.
When the moon is full.
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Great poem, Gwen. Love the last stanza.
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