The moon comes late,
sends in the snow before it,
whipping the hillside
into busy froth,
trees iced to reflection,
prepared; the moon's
known better days,
strong enough then
to rattle the night
without this trickery,
layered make-up,
white against the creases
of blue time.
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Robin Schectman has had work in Poetry, Beloit Poetry Journal, Borderlands, Cumberland Review, Diner, Edgz, Iris, Journal of the American Medical Associatoin, Kansas Quartelry, New England Review, Seneca Review, Sycamore Review and other magazines. When not writing, Robin is a painter, working mostly in watercolors or pastels.
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