Amid spreading blues and whites
floating above in the sky
as more and more
the dawn lifts its dusk,
the moon, high overhead,
peers curved, and yet
seems no more
than another cloud
so easily unseen or mistaken—
one little skiff among so many,
all much larger now,
nay, much more stately
and even thespian and amply grand.
And yet—isn’t it at least just as wonderful
to know what’s different in all such semblance?
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