So much dwelling on the cusp. A crescent moon

assuring us there will be change and flux;

the promise of new quarters and new moons.

I looked for these moons in you. But now, I want

 

those lunar phases back, the waning and waxing,

not apparently for journey – a new satellite – but

intake added to a static average. I regret, I retract,

if teachers and poets can, my nod on your behalf. 

 

Poor Stesichorus given back his sight – only after

the lie. Yet Helen was an imposter. He had it right.

Spinner of truths. Heartsick. What he had to divine:  

The fullness of life, the peace in being blind.