Hunting for the Moon

by

Diane Klammer

I
One of the eyes of night
The moon opens,
Closes. Masculine
Or feminine? A celebration
Or paradox? Simultaneously
Constant and inconsistant
Consistant and inconstant.

You are a compilation
Of planets
Not only the stuff of science, you are
The stuff of poets.

Every twenty eight days or so
You show a new fullness,
A new red harvest. Predictable changes
So far.

Full moon whole notes,
Crescent chin quarter rests,
So it sings. Precisely.

You make full mood music.
A song cycle for lunacy,
A song cycle for the huntress
Searching for a new
Moondance.

II
How old is the moon?
Gravity and cold
Craters fill in
Your deep shoe treads;
Dust where you used to walk.

A reminder of the howling
For what cannot be reached, cannot be touched,
Even in clear lake reflections
Widening into unknown
Diameters of concentric
Circles
Leaving wet traces
On the hands and face.
III
Fair coquette of heaven
You have a cold grace
You are host
To pearl white banquet.

You deflect a silvery laugh
To those who have passed
You off
As "Man in the Moon".

It is not a man reflected
In your light of mystery.
There is a woman in your bright face
Who is shy about her beauty,
Retreating if one stares too hard.

You glow ice fragile
Beautiful as a newly formed
Opal cameo carved
On the onyx of the night sky.

Sometimes you blush red,
Retreat, then disappear.
It is a woman's prerogative
To change her mind.

Several times
Your pretty face
Caused me to dance,
To lament being alone,
Shone light on my shadowed path,
Kept me awake
With your gown of silver
On my bed.

I have cried to hold you,
But you retreat into portent dark blue.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at A New Dawn
by: Joy Chowdhury
from: Vancouver, BC, CA

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