"Each that we lose takes part of us;
A crescent still abides,
Which like the moon, some turbid night,
Is summoned by the Tides."
(Emily Dickinson)
A crescent still abides,
Which like the moon, some turbid night,
Is summoned by the Tides."
(Emily Dickinson)
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The comparison seems strange because the moon is so beautiful...
lunar ebb and flow.
Departure, a lover's lips,
the umbra of an eclipse,
we rise, fall, rise, grow.
Heart torn open in the rain,
like beauty, like pain.