The moon is the moon, regardless. Some things are certain, say, great bodies of water, stark mountains— I return to them as I return to you, a pilgrim. That is not to say I believe in much, only that some things are too familiar to deny, even this moon, half -eclipsed, playing at garnet, even you, now far again, but still known, always known, there is a landscape, a knowledge, that cannot be denied— when I […]
Originally posted on <a href="http://jeffschwaner.com/2015/09/25/super-moon-lunar-eclipse-extra-special-full-moon-social-already-fullmoonsocial">Translations from the English</a>: <br />So apparently it is like not only a massive super moon this weekend, but also a great lunar eclipse starting around 9pm ET here in the Blue Ridge. What better time than this full moon to launch another #fullmoonsocial event on WordPress and Twitter? The eclipse lasts for three hours or so at a pretty optimal time for many of us, though I am looking at a forecast…
Putting away the sun dresses, the summer has carried us here– there’s an edge in the sky, a mix of blue with hard tin, wan through half-shut blinds as the window wiper descends in a perilous descant. Some movements are immovable, their arc and conclusions, fixed.
It’s too night, unloved black-cat black, as inked punctuation, looped pauses and finalities, or more like shaped as a glass, not hollow, but wanting. A night is a vessel, a word, an arrival, still, the shore never ceases to surprise me, and neither does the sea.
Monday morning mountain comedown with sunburnt lips and aching legs in comparison to the alpine the city is mundane with its colorless clouds and effortless grades it all seemed so clear the higher I climbed even the goat trails the bushwacking of trees the unstable scree slopes I only know how to enjoy what it seems I’ve earned even last night I saw a glacier field approaching in my dream until turning back I woke–
Late mornings lost hours lashings of rain on the faux window deck– the air is cooler now easy to breathe in but being more liquid more difficult to grasp– like the concept of letting a summer go in peace– the fires are finally now starting to ebb out but still I clutch it in tight fingers like some scratchy worn blanket comforting in its discomfort like how I even regret my regrets–
OPTIONAL POETRY 