Making the Moon

In a violence of fire

the placid form we love

came to be, to fill an arc,
soft above our dreams, although it seems

She was always there...at a time

before human eyes, when the heart

was yet the stuff of stars.

The cool morning air belies

calendar rumors of heat, and the street

sobers the drunken night

Above the green trees, greeting

wonder-seeking eyes, a Cardinal calls,

into the pale and graded blues

a chorus of Doves sing
to the dim flat face, in a cloudless embrace,

making the morning Moon.

In the night when love was

the favored scent, and purpose

of each twist of wind; distant stars
seemed to recede, fall back
yield the center stage

to the full golden face of nearer heaven.

As I found the glowing upon her sandy skin

in the knowing of your skin, and

a partnership- from far and near-

an adoration of a woman and this night;

when moon’s light and a man’s eager sight

compete for you...We made the Moon,

and She was a Goddess.