April 3, 2015. Tonight is a waxing gibbous moon. The spring moon is for lovers, though an April moon is a bit chilly yet here in Minnesota. Here is a moon poem:
Ask the moon if she means to be
this full of second-hand light,
ask her if she’s more silver than the original,
ask her how her scars become a face.
Ask her if she needs someone to talk to
and, is that why she loves a lake?
The stars are hidden when the moon comes out:
it’s natural to simplify from sky to sparrow,
it’s natural to trade April for a leaf.
In every conversation, just one word
may be important: the pliant tip
of meaning rises above the heavy surface.
Love is the abstraction, not your lips.