Forests & trees

Capturing the moon, elusive
as the big tableau.

That's a lie, for there it lords,
a Klieg light, violent, brushing,

sticking as tar on thought, on pulse. On three?
As with pitch, cannot be scrubbed clean

so one, & two, slip
during third shift, & drift

until distance, & it nests no more.
But it will always crawl, even a little.

& I cast my glass, for a time,
on the smaller hallways.