TO THE WANING GIBBOUS MOON

 

Ah, friend–this is our time of day:
four a.m., and the others all asleep.
The cats still doze in their baskets,
the old dog wheezes on her rug.
The man beside me still solid
in his dreams of wings.
Half a mountain away, my son
and his love lie tangled and warm .

You, cold rock, mirror of our star,
you, marker of our seasons here,
by you I’ve planted and planted my seed.
I greet you across diminished
dark, softening blue above the pines,
awake beyond the blur of atmosphere.

 

2007

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