Fontegaia, again... getting fairly wacky.

9

 
A ring of lakes, each lake
like a ring.  Frigid, with a few
frigates.  Sails full of airy
dew.  What it was like.

 
The bond of a moon in eclipse
was guaranteed by magnets,
according to the majestic
juryman (a Mr. Chips) -

 
like you or me, or more like 
you, actually - like a ewe
or a vestryman, a vraie
monad, like Eweryman - well

 
liked (at least until last
Friday, as far as I know).
She sobbed into the micro
after they drug him to the hill

 
(a friggin' no-frill spiel
or spelling bee, sez).
And a tear, a few tears...
wells from the commonweal.

 
So the adventures of little Frisbee
followed a rapid ripple down
to Mirror Lake, sometime round
sundoom.  And for you and me

 
what did it mean?  You-me.
Like a hybridized horseshoe,
a lonely-pastured Disk-a-Do.
Awhish, a rue, awry, awhee...

(p.s. it appears JL was also writing about the moon last night (or this morning). The eclipse brought it so close, so 3-dimensional - rounding it out, a smooth little pearly pebble or old-fashioned clasp-button in the sky. Cold silver radiance, taking earth on board, the shadow of earth. Going underground. Hanging up there, not far away, a sort of aloof tear-drop, a sort of Frigga-Pieta of close-lipped mournful restraint, looking on.)