“If you have time tonight” says the TV hostess
“Look at the moon. It’s full and particularly
beautiful.” So I do. After preparing
a meal and washing the dishes, settling
myself for evening I pay a call
from my front door on the moon.
There is nothing I can say to it. A circle
forms in my mouth which remains closed.
A cavernous disc closes my throat
or my neck is elongated by a stack
of tight silver rings. So bright is the moon
I hardly dare decipher the legend imprinted on it.
A rabbit? A hare? Something in profile
or declivities, ranges, and valleys
dried river beds, craters? No design
can mar its beauty, like touching a soft
cheek in the dark, feeling a profile
looking ahead, but watching.