Eclipse of Thought

by Michael Lee Johnson

Wing tipped
by the sun
I see a different
version of the moon.
A movie not yet seen in darkness.
A story not yet told by prophets.
No movie mongrel
has siphoned the
joy from the wing,
the eclipse.
Clever this fore night
how the transition
of sun and moon
cloud my thinking,
create this poem.
Somewhere in between.