Inevitably turning,
we wax and wane
counter turn to the
ticking quotidian
Trumpet to the dark
and sate the door
enveloped in a roar
With glow slow grow
carve a moon in our core
then celebrate the fleeting
whole, smooth globed orb
to the tick-tock decline
the slice by slice gone
till we return where we were
the one, the only,
each day in its day
the remnants we take
into the again-gaping dark
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