Article voiceover
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.
You capture such beauty, Jonathan, in both image and word.
So damn beautiful