​​​​Stewart Dawson

Gems

​The Moon tonight
floats in the sky
like a child’s balloon.
Adrift,
a clown’s gift,
escaped.
The child, sad, lost a friend,
awaits another rising.

And the Moon floats away,
bloated,
filled with summer’s dreams,
scheming, dancing with the clouds.

A wisp of string
tracing the curtain lace
in the window
of the child’s eye.

(circa, 1990)