What is this I see tonight in your Old Moon face,
not the sly wink of witnessing what we’re about.
It’s not your Familiar Beam taking note of a stolen
kiss behind the bleachers or the All Knowing Moon’s
affirming nod to the perfect pairing of two lovers.
Tonight I see, Harvest Moon, you are a Keening Moon.
How is it that I never noticed your O shaped mouth
before, a copycat round to your hanging frame in the
indigo sky. Oh, Sorrowing Moon, your O lament
surrounds me. I watch a thin grey silk sweep across
your moaning face unable to brush away sadness
falling from your mouth, wipe away heartache
dripping down upon us on this night of praise. I
cannot polish away your pain, wipe it clean with
a thin grey silk no more than clouds can change
Moon’s visage. I want my O arms to gather you near
me, unfurl the scarf from my shoulders, wrap you
inside to rest until laughter encircles you once more
under a May Bright Moon.
Tonight was filled with sadness. Lots of pain shared. Lots of prayers requested.
Driving home I noticed the moon’s face. I always see two eyes, a mushed nose, and a mouth. It was tonight that I noticed the mouth was shaped not like a smile but someone keening, moaning, lamenting. Has it always been that way?