Blood moon
Between Orion and the Plough
a blink of wing-lights. We
watch our shadow tip
across the moon. In valleys
unwanted light puddles, spreads.
On Stanage Edge the breeze
is fluid as family, the glittered sky
brittle as dried teasels.
Air traffic control is humming,
sketching new constellations.
We forget the names of stars.
Copyright © Julian Dobson 2016
Julian Dobson lives in Sheffield, England, where men call each other ‘duck’. His poems have appeared in publications including Brittle Star, The Interpreters’ House and The Poets’ Republic, and on a bus in Guernsey. He tries to post a poem a week at 52poemsinayear.wordpress.com