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Well, moon, enough of these
that your Yoshitoshi, who left us
a hundred moon-prints, started
me up on. You don't mesh with our
calendar or clock, or day
or month or year, you claim
your own month -- mooneth -- with its
bunch of ill-fi tting moon
numbers, 29 (days), 12 (hours),
44 (minutes), and tonight you are
complete, O smooth one, and in
that matchless silence you
command, how you keep
perfect now at your maximum
brightness that delicate, clean rim,
as of what metal, hammered thin?