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A full moon poetic in the starless sky. Everything closed or flickering orange to blue.
Briefly we are caught off guard and forget about the muse of beautiful regrets.  We
believe the streetlights when they flatter day old cake inside the baker’s window. The
shoes made for dancing through the early light. They refuse the deep symmetry of their
own sorrow—that smallest difference between first and last, a single tear and a raindrop.

But we are not so lucky. On our heads we collect the dust of future stories and carry them
through town picking up decorated strangers. We bring them to bed but can’t remember
every line exactly as it was written in the book . Why the happy ending we grew up with
and believed in made sense in the first place.


    


Andrei Guruianu lives in New York City where he teaches in the Expository Writing Program at New York University. He is the author of a memoir, Metal and Plum (Mayapple Press, 2010), and four collections of poetry: Postmodern Dogma (Sunbury Press, 2011), And Nothing Was Sacred Anymore (March Street Press, 2009), Front Porch World View (Main Street Rag, 2009), Days When I Saw the Horizon Bleed (FootHills Publishing, 2006). He is also the founder of the literary journal The Broome Review, and from 2008 to 2010 he served as the Broome County, NY Poet Laureate. www.andreiguruianu.com.


Almost every one of my poems begins from an image observed. Sometimes it's a line or word from a song, some snipped of overheard conversation. But most often it's the image - the thing itself. And so it was with this poem - I want to say the initial triggering image was the bakery or the moon - I forget which - but it was nighttime and it was summer and I was walking without any stars above.


 









 





  


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