HANGING IN CURRENTS
For each month, the ancients
have named the moons.
The Wolf Moon’s winter
outline is sharp,
stares cold and hard
from high in the sky.
The April’s Growing
Moon is a softer light.
The Hay Moon
of summer stays
butter yellow.
Like the ancients, I gaze
at Orion in his eternal
hunt for Ursa Major.
But I know
that we move
at incomprehensible
speed in swells
of dark matter
and energy towards
our beginning
on a filament as fine
as light.
Third Wednesday
11/2011
