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Under a Fingernail Moon
Kelly Ann Malone
A pregnant lunar display, plugged into the sky—This is not for me.
I exist under a fingernail moon, casting less of a glow.
Providing scant beams, if any.
I prefer the thin, silver rim that pleasantly dips south-east.
It does not pierce the clouds, but gently hovers above them.
It leaves us below to find our own way.
It causes us to forge our own light, so that we may
discover the path within the eclipse of our destinies.