Twilight curtains parted
and in grand purple theater
arose a ponderous butterscotch moon.
“Catch me if you can!”
it stage-whispered to my camera,
which sighed in my hands,
and tried, oh, so many times,
but in the end could only stand with me,
in awed suspension of disbelief.
You may ask, dear reader, if there is anything
that doesn’t remind me of dessert.
I’ve asked that too.