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 […]
This a lunar phase, then, finding the sun too direct in its dealings. A dream— half-real, the cool hallway of a summer house, dim and still, with windows opened to night air. Given enough time, a fear of the dark is roundly displaced, the moon slakes some thirst that can’t be named, but comes awfully close to respite— Don’t we all have our tides? And the summer stars, they seem to swing lower, so tempting […]
Day moon a day dream real as those far snow-capped mountains so real somewhere else not here pallid as the ghost of the grafted plum that came up just beyond the stump white-blossomed unlike its predecessor I didn’t know a tree could just spring up like that these are strange days this whole day moon a portent a portal it must mean something hanging there meaning something irresistible as a half -formed thought a blank […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 