Witching Moon

A witching moon is out tonight.

Its contours are blurred by fog.

Its face is smudged with dark clouds

like charcoal finger prints on paper.

 

Suggestive is the moist breath

of the nearby river.

It collects furtively in alleys,

condenses on glass surfaces.

 

Reality has an oily quality.

A boggy scent fills the streets.

 

Wandering home

to the hopeful chirps

of lusty crickets

my body feels powerful,

inhabited by

an irregular presence.

 

The animal in me

purrs in response to

the moon’s provocative full face.

 

Yesssss, hiss all my slinky sinews

connecting aging, thoughtful bones,

not so old they have forgotten their youth,

but old enough to know it’s gone…

 

Yes, tonight we will dance.

HS 9.14.2016

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