and hold my feet—
I’m falling
to the moon.
It’s calling, calling with the fleeting
calling
of the loon.
I’m falling, falling
up the sky
behind
the bright balloon,
where tall and walled,
a city lies
amid moon-dusty dunes,
and all its halls
are pearly white
and filled
with silver rooms,
and all, oh all
the moonswept nights
are endlessly
in June.
Come all, the call’s
enthralling me—
I’m falling
to the moon.
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