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
which 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.

…..

First published in Plum Tree Tavern