This night the moon falls from the sky as a
Clipping of a fingernail. It cuts off
The Crescent and starts again. A new moon
Pulls the tide in, the waves draw close,
Tuck underneath the earth, where gravity
Holds it in place.
The moon has thrice caught my sight these cloudless
evenings. Each day it hides, yet comes out just
The same; big and golden and buttery.
I watch it engaged, my eyes fixed on it’s path,
Like a game of hide and seek as it comes and
Goes and seems to wax and wane oh so slow.
I look away for what seems a moment
And I return and to see it changed, from first
quarter to waning gibbous, from first glance
to this fickle romance that seems to have
cheated on me. I’m told “Swear not by the moon,
th’inconstant moon, that monthly changes her
circled orb.” But the moon is pulling no trick
on me, I should expect the pattern by now,
the months are marked. The stages are set and
I’m the one who looked away. I will say not
‘O how you’ve changed’ to the moon that’s calendar
Has been set.
I had a dream that I was driving o’er
The hills and I caught the moon. It was sinking,
sliding down the sky, drawing closer to
Earth. I jumped out of my car, felt gravity’s
pull and took three photos. Then I woke up,
and the photos and the moon were gone.
The tide draws back and forth and I cannot
Follow the waxing and waning cycle.
I am the earth, spinning on its axis,
with no focal point to ‘spot’ as I turn
As a ballet dancer continuing
Her set of foutees and pirouettes.
The tide swims in, over my mind, until
I am in too deep in this deep blue sea
And now I’m drunk with high tide, a full moon