The Little Black Month *

This is the Little Black Month.

Clouds blink:

Prestidigitation –

And the full moon is gone

Not seen to return,

No matter what the crick in the neck.

A body large as loss,

Silver as longing,

Heavy as bleakness.

It was there behind Winged Peace;

She was placing a wreath,

An olive ring, upon its brow,

Marrying the sky.

This is the little black month,

Ebon, under a wintering caul,                     

And we never feel so flung and far

From returning fire,

From the hope of the splitting seed.

Dan Belton February 18^th 2021

*The little black  month is a Romani term for February.