No Balance At All © 08 Rob Lock

Sometimes, on a half moon night, you see
the other half hovering behind,
larger than the part that’s in the light,
waiting to embrace it.

Sometimes there’s a slightly ragged edge
between the bright bit and the void,
as if a sugar paper disc, folded tight,
had been gently torn in two.

Tonight it’s a guillotine line: stump
that can’t believe its limb has gone;
cleft melon about to topple; blank
wall of yin in want of yang.