Moon Poem (2020)

It is a drag
to tell your secrets
to the twilight hours
whispering close dream
and to have the moon
not let you go
to the land of sleep

as it keeps,

weighted & luminous,
pressing on your eyelids
through the brick wall.
Is it strange to call
the moon luminous?
I mean, what else?
It is the moon afterall.
So I wake, little else to do,
with the real morning
with the actual morning of
the absolute sky,
and drag myself
into the crisp
of a song lighted
in the next air
from a distant
bird’s mouth.

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