A sea-storm of cloud over just-dark:
brightness beneath, bats whispering
the air out of reach, breath held
breeze rattles black cherry
and the moon-rim rises, pulls clear
quivering against blue-black
Something more than five hundred
full moons I’ve been alive and why
this one night it transfixes me—
How many of those hundreds have I
completely ignored, blind to looking,
blinder to not be transfixed?
If it were ten times brighter, twenty
times, would I not soon forget it
just the same? Take all for granted:
bat-wing silence, leaves unfurling
in daylight, the rise and fall of waves,
countless fruits dropping to the ground
What good is it to notice the fruit
if I don’t look up to the tree? What good
is it to be transfixed by the moon
in a sea-storm cloud with you in bed
waiting for me to lower the blinds?
Inspired by last night’s moon-sky and a little interchange I had with Meg at Pigspittle, Ohio about Noticing.