Three moons – a trilune for Jane Dougherty

Three coins lay in the palm of my hand.

What to spend them on? First, on your thoughts,

Your hopes, your dreams. It seemed a fair price.

Second, on a great white horse, still running,

The night clouds parting before its hooves,

As it makes its own path through the skies.

Third, on the gleaming ghost of a kiss,

Fragile, hung on a fine silver chain,

What’s left in the grate, when the fire dies.

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