Moonrise

The moon rose in the sky
as the moon rose in the poem
the new held in the lap of the old
and we talked about the weather
and imminent disaster forestalled
since we were together.

Comrades, I am with you
under this very full moon!
and we shall not yet set forth
but will talk about the shape
of things and thereby shape
this hour this day if not
this life –

                                Are you depressed?
Does the reflection of bright objects
themselves reflecting brighter
objects’ pulsing energies make you cry
your face toward the darkening sky?
Are you too always mooding
the air, sulphurous or snowcleaned,
windwashed, particulated
with microplastics?
I cannot see what I breathe
except when I freeze.
There’s a streak on the lake
of a yellowy white you could drown
in for real. Please don’t.
All you believers in total immersion
all you who hope yet to surface
I salute you, I on a far shore
but thinking of you as no wind
tears the bare branches away –

There’s a stillness and another
                stillness.
There’s a whiteness whitening
                the grey.
There’s a fullness plain
                as day
in the dawning night,
                an impersonal rock
drawing the waves far away
                to their ebb.
You wanted real things
                food and trucks
and diapers and OK a moon a baby
                says goodnight to.
Good morrow! I haven’t given up
                yet! we haven’t!
The connectivity is good!
                Today every conversation
                found an open channel.