Moonlight illuminates shapes,
washes away colors. Surface water
reflects moon-deflected light from
our hidden sun, hidden as sands below tides
or the up-sides of clouds wind-surfing nightly.
Moon masters the illusion
of motion, orbiting so slowly
we think our rotation is its own,
our vanity deeper than this ocean
of currents, creatures and canyons.
I’m only ocean’s spume and froth,
smaller at night, ocean’s wider,
moonlight’s brighter
and I spin unknowing.
I’m alive, unaware
of how much time is left,
balanced, slightly wiser,
closer to truth
that I’m always moving
in circles.
Rosemary Dunn Moeller lives in Hyannis and St. Lawrence, S. Dak. and is the author of Long Term Mates Migrate Great Distances.
