The world transfixed

Yesterday at the far edge of the lakebed, in the afternoon, dust was rising, miles away, higher and higher. How was it possible that when it is so wet here, and that side had gotten just as much snow? But, then too, this morning I walked out nearly as far as the water, all the snow gone, (it had been too wet to walk on at all yesterday) but what wasn’t dry was also hard with cold. I kept going until it was goopy. I stood and turned, sinking into the mud. Winter Ridge still with snow, some trees full too; tall and white against the blue.

The moon was out before sundown last evening. Mocking the melted snow that had accumulated wherever the sun did not touch. Mocking too the sun, I think. Beautiful in the now clearing sky. And last night, this morning, one a.m., I stepped out again to see it shining brightly, the night sky pale, the pond glowing, stars hiding their faces. I stood and listened. Nothing was making a sound, everything in the world was transfixed by the moon’s face.

Here's an older poem about the moon in a way:

Russia won’t rule out nuclear weapons

This sad heart, the moon goes quickly

to wane as though she can’t turn

her full face quickly enough away

from the earth.


A few life cycles of orbit

& tides she must forget.

How often she had lingered

into the daylight, her presence

a walk of shame for all to see.

How she shudders now

for ever having loved this world.