Moon LightThrough the skylight the full moon splashes gray-white opalescence not a new task— every month it rises roundly yellow against the liquid amber and white oak landscaping or steel towers of power lines across the mud flats at low tide with the distant lights on the bare hills shining across the bay every month is not a new thing, we may count on its regular appearance like a dream of a lover returning recurring a loss that never leaves this its white reminder, the round face of what we must remember or are forbidden to forget so we need to notice every time, even as we forget his face exactly now, and his arms-- the moon feels colder these days through the electric wires the plane trees the skylight on my single bed. |
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