The gentle faces fall
and collect, fall
like deer
into the field—
over and over
like soft moons.
*
You remember her skin and how it rang with moonlight.
And though the moon may never sing,
the image made sense—
the way that shine seemed to quantify sound.
Are these two independent poems? Or are they better together as one poem, with breaks?
I felt the rain…
Thanks, Gillian 🙂