Dubious Moon


The moon’s grown fat and I’m suspicious

because several stars have gone missing,


the sky’s an evil shade of black,

and someone’s stolen every leaf, leaving


nothing but bleached tree-skeletons

pointing bony fingers at the culprit.


Some people claim they’ve never seen the moon

perfectly full. But I’ve caught it that way


countless times, like tonight. Those of us

with poor eyesight are the beneficiaries


of such gifts. Without my glasses, I see seven

overlapping – an embarrassment of moons.


Looking through the edge of my glasses,

the upper curve of moon is scarlet


and the bottom is blue. I get prism moons

into the blind bargain.


The lake below is a sparkling mess,

a waste bin for phosphorescent fallen stars


and its mirrored moon-face aims a blinding glare,

as if I needed one.