The moon was spectacular at midnight, 1 a.m., 2:30 a.m., 3:22 a.m., and even 4:19 a.m. So spectacularly large, bright and glowing increasingly golden orange as it set in the west that it wouldn’t get me sleep until well after 4 a.m. Thanks to a whole lot of coffee, some chocolate and power nap, I’m awake now to write the tale, and to share this poem that I wrote on my back deck, in the wee hours, as I watched the moon dive under an great lake of clouds and, 30 minutes later, emerge even brighter. I’ve paired this with another of Stephen Locke’s astonishing photos.
Finding the Moon
Did you stop now that you found the moon
almost full, floating west across a small clearing
between the dampening clouds? The large and open-hearted wind
the heat lightning occasional and distance. Did you still yourself
in the lawn chair on the deck and stop waiting for one desire
to name itself or another to dissipate?
Where have you been, the beautiful world asks,
wind furrowing your hair as your night gown swims
around your happy skin. The moon rolls under
a cloud the size of a great lake, the light leaves
in increments, and now, no excuse.
Just one star to the south, one star to the west.
Shadow on shadow, light on light. Lightning bugs
thread their stories through the cedars, which hold all seasons
of what can be seen or not. Now nothing but the deep
charcoal of the windy night. Now everything, the flashlight
shining the way west for the moon, and then, the full light.
Why have you spent yourself ignoring this?
The best moment of your life, every moment.