One February moon,
four days from full,
struck a broad ring out
around itself, perfect
and denim dark, clear
of the bone and pearl mist
going gray against
the wide curve of night.

It was as if a breath,
round as the hollow room
of the mouth, pulled
back the great tide
of wispy cirrus and left
a yellow-white shore
under the high crest
of a drowning wave.

I wanted to name that sky,
concentric and strange,
some marvel of math
and magic, but on the brink
of an exhalation that could break
the bright circles of the sky
into dull amorphy,
I stood silent.

03/04/2006

Posted on 03/05/2006
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