So low it used to seem almost
perverse, like the risen dome of some dead
city, the full moon, rising, might have been
an omen-a public event
looming so great all roads would lead to it.
Whichever way I’d turn
on the small playground
I could not avoid it,
I’d find myself walking toward the moon,
though it is long since, now, that I have learned
what the full moon portends-
nothing, except that when you notice it
you’re apt to be alone.
A name, someone you still love, comes to mind.
You remember, just then, that the earth is turning,
and feel, for a moment, certain
that as you notice it
you are the only one.
Full Moon, Rising
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