MOON’S MORNING

Moon’s morning. Opening night.
Possum on porch, distressed and distressing.
And the just-enough use of force, like pressing
a dimple into a bottle cap.

Moon’s morning. Escaping the trap.
Bottle cap’s dimple, and all it allows.
We’re sanding off the back half of the house,
to paint the empty air.

Moon’s morning. Don’t despair.
Twigs, red and supple; yellowy leaves.
My love is the lady who lately believes
we must flee this little work town.

Moon’s morning. Watership Down.
Twilight cold, at the wrong end of spring.
We assume that if we don’t enjoy a thing,
it’s because that thing is bad.

Moon’s morning. It’s all we had.
Courage and cowardice: not what you thought.
It’s cowardice has the much better shot
at defeating evil.

Moon’s morning. Wide receiver.
Stare at a painting, nod and say yes.
Your autocomplete will make it make sense, will supply
your want of sympathy.

Moon’s morning. Satellite apogee.
Jack up the sprinkler to water the plants.
The lightning shape of the snaking branch;
the snake shape of the hose.

Moon’s morning. Strophic prose.
Oak stick planted, annular eclipse.
Ladybug liking to land on the lips
of a puckered petal.

Moon’s morning. Pencil and Gretel.
Little Red Riding Crop filing her nails.
Clocking tristesse and felicité.
Your favorite feelings, explained away!

Moon’s morning. And more on the way.
Live oak holding out her dainty hand, so.
My love is the lady who happens to know
what she does and does not desire.

Moon’s morning. Knows her own mind.
Live oak’s fingers held out for inspection,
with rings that revolve in different directions
and open in two and fly away.