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’saffirming 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 theindigo sky. Oh, Sorrowing Moon, your O lament
surrounds me. I watch a thin grey silk sweep acrossyour moaning face unable to brush away sadness
falling from your mouth, wipe away heartachedripping down upon us on this night of praise. I
cannot polish away your pain, wipe it clean witha thin grey silk no more than clouds can change
Moon’s visage. I want my O arms to gather you nearme, unfurl the scarf from my shoulders, wrap you
inside to rest until laughter encircles you once more
under a May Bright Moon.
.
.
.
Author’s Note:
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?