This is a poem about a full moon

 

This is a poem about a full moon

which I never saw rising
because I live in a valley
covered by fog.

Night by night just before bed
I soak in a hot tub and listen to owls.
Night by night, a different phase of moon
must rise high scaling mountainside
and then pierce the fog
which keeps the redwoods alive.

The fog is a dance of silver shafts
hovering among branches
like beams from a celestial projector.

This is a poem about a nose
touching my elbow at the edge of the hot tub,
a black wet nose,
a raccoon cub wide-eyed with life,
fur thick and glossy,
curious, electric, spirit of night.

Startled delighted I exclaim There you are!
like an idiot and the cub, scared,
scampers — gone.

This is a poem about the felt,
sometimes seen, ever there:
the fog and full moon,
an elbow, cub nose,
the damp touch
of the wild cosmos.

…..

From my book buck naked is the opposite of hate

First published in Plum Tree Tavern

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@joecottonwood