The way he bellows
from the electrical stage
almost anyone can hear
the loud moon at night

Me, I seek him out
over morning tea in
his true-drawn features

reading my fortune
in messages jotted
between fierce night
and troubled red day

           *
A cryptic sign chills
his blue backdrop,
the sun upstages
his ash-white face

as he twists into a
curl of white smoke,
crooked eyes
widening