The moon is visible tonight even to the realists among us.
Its white salt descends over an Earth in shadow
to enter and preserve. . .
The moon is visible tonight even to realists.
Its white salt descends to enter our human wounds
and to preserve us. . .
It is the miserableness in us just as we are,
removed to a safe distance. There above us,
we should be unable for one night to try to change it.
But we should see it as it is, bare hip
beneath night’s shoulder as it turns slowly away.
A catch, a whip, a long line from one rock to another-
a tall tale, a rolling boil in the pot on the stove-
you can take this to court with an egg in one hand
and a round hole in the bottom of a shoe:
Members of the jury, I ask you to believe
that I stepped upon the moon, without doing anything.
You have only to deliberate to see that I
have told the truth and am innocent in the sight of God.
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