Enigma (A Vision)

The clouds that under-sweep the moon are burned
by frozen nothingness that coats the air
with quiet blue ferocity, discerned
by freezing eyes turned up in doubtful prayer,
through bitter glass, in semi-warm embrace
with life, or what will pass as life.  The lie
is not within the clouds where shadows trace
the moon.  The bitterness is blue, but why
would anybody pray to what’s above,
beyond, and further than the distant reach
of what can be perceived?  Perception of
a thing is more than faith; it is the breach
of darkness where the faithful burn too soon
while watching clouds that under-sweep the moon.

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