The moon at noon, a poem by Tom Mukasa

The moon at noon

The moon will come out at noon,

it will stand in one place,

many will raise their heads,

to behold the show,

the sun will throw its coldness,

the chill will burn holes in bones,

laments will come out as laughter,

tears will become icicle bands,

snakes will walk on their hinds,

their fangs of ivory,

and furred molt,

shed into heaps of ash,

a lion will coo incessantly,

a leopard will change its spots,
their horned tails,

hanging limply on their heads,

worms the size of trees,

with gnarled boughs,

will build mounds,

the size of hills,

the moon will come out at noon,

this she told us,

but the trance wore off,

the rivers still flowed.