[The Moon’s fingertips]

The Moon’s fingertips 
Cuts through the summer air 
After the storms pass

While an uncertain wandering
Catches in my soul, like 
A stream’s gully;

Reflection of my face
Puddling in the sweating, dewy
Earth, 

Seas of frozen seafoam juiced,
Floating speech-bubbles, 
No rise in altitude 

Because I’m already there, 
Snug with birds, the worm
Squirming slowly on the curb

Next to the clumsily-planted bed 
Of flowers around the neighbor’s 
White mailbox. 

I inhabit the night because
Everyone is asleep,
Refreshing after a long day’s work 

To do it all over again 
In the morning, like automata. 
Oh the hazards we’ve become,

As I stare at the stars 
And wonder what is to come, 
The dead rising to die a little more

& the sun lighting a path golden, 
prosperous 
in the dreams of many.