Unsettled Past Perigee

 

We missed the Supermoon

the last of its kind for awhile

full and close to the earth

but we felt its effects

in our own ebb and flow

moon of lost footing

moon of imbalance

moon of the drought and the fires

moon of alternative truth

moon of haunted dreams

moon of the dwindling light

moon of the gathering tribes

moon of the mope and the gloat

moon of the lengthening night

moon of the shadows on snow

moon of this life while we have it

moon of the uses of consciousness

moon of our counting

moon of our sums and remainders

moon of what's here

moon of our faith in our neighbors

moon of the owls in the dark

moon of the wind in the hemlocks

moon of the sweet constant music

moon of our more than enough.

Living in Sky

Sitting on a hill

at the bottom of the sky,

the clouds and the blue

that travel with us

as we circle a star

that circles in a galaxy

that spins in an infinite void,

we feel in the grip

of something right,

something intense,

something elusive

that slips away

as soon as we try

to say it.

We let it be.

Elsewhere

Knockanore Mountain, Ireland

          

Dissolving

into the calm

of sunset and mist,

I hold my breath

and listen,

the ocean inside

calling me back

to the cliffs

overlooking the sea.

Cliffs of Moher, County Clare, Ireland

      

      

(Top photo by Michael Cummins, bottom photo from the public domain)

A Trick of Daybreak

A trick of daybreak

caught us in the shadows

between gray and blue,

our slide almost complete

since Franklin keyed the storm,

nostalgic for the dark,

and soon to return

to whispers in candlelight.

We'll call it afterglow.

In a Country of Strangers

November 5, 2024

The field is fewer,

tall and leaning,

our shadows are long,

but we are small,

leaving the woods,

surrendered to sky

in the buoyant dim,

longing for reason,

slowly depleting

where all things succumb,

heaven vast and void,

if ever we all return.

Early November

  

Paisleyed with frost

   

When the furnace awoke me

it was early November

but late in my life,

and lost in the dark,

I needed to steady myself.

This was the window,

Paisleyed with frost,

and that was the night,

Jupiter leering

in the black woods.

This was Pandora,

streaming New Age,

but the box

had been opened

long ago.

And that was my hand,

holding the pen,

touching no one.

Workshop of the Mind

Cellos at sunset

Remnants in jars on the shelves

Memories backlit