The Moon in the Light of the Sun’s Rising

Pushkin sonnet

Pointe-Claire, Quebec — Photos by Jonathan Potter

The moon in the light of the sun’s rising
Presides above the falling world
Where all and nothing is surprising
To people flying as if hurled
By the unseen hand of a sinker pitcher
And death itself the absent catcher
Beyond horizons in the end
Waiting like a friendless friend
Who takes your hand and smiles grimly
As the sun begins to set
As if pierced by bayonet,
The blood red sky then fading dimly
Into darkness with its stars
And sleep to numb autumnal scars.

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