Sunday, January 14, 2018

FULL MOON AT 4 AM

Wide orb draped in
wool and water, 
I pause
to take a picture.
[A blot of dull black eternity
trapped in rectangle screen
lit by a faint bulb
that dangles miles
from this dog and me.]

See, fool, see!
Be swooned,
be still, be swallowed
by the open mouth of the moon.

Saturday, January 13, 2018

THE SUN IN EARLY DECEMBER

The Sun in early December,
soon after breakfast, dangles
between the hills like a smooth
gold pendant pressed to the pink chest
of morning, as if she were the reflection
of herself and not the origination of reflection
and of light. A sight not of metal, nor moon, nor water,
but fire upon fire upon fire upon fire...

Oh what a sweet and simple revelation:
this realization that the origin of creation
lights my every day! Oh how I'd like to be
as beautiful, as useful, as meaningful
as the Sun in early December.