by Carol Moldaw
Disoriented after we moved, I’d stumble
on the equally insomniac moon
all hours of the night, rolling
from window to window, inching north
as it traveled west, and slowly deflating
as if pinpricked by the burr of a star.
No matter what shape it was in,
directly overhead the moon eluded me
until a skylight would narrowly capture
its brilliance heading for the drive.
From our new entry’s glass panels
I’d watch my old pellucid friend glide
across the canyon and gild the Jemez
before it sank like a coin in a slot,
leaving me to find my way by feel
to my side of our newly unfamiliar bed.
Published on June 10, 2022