colors of the moon

echo in the treetops

fade far too soon.

in the night the moon climbs into the sky

whirls in the sky

cries in the sky

sings.

petals of the black rose

close around the day beads

rolling down the lost highway.

I am startled

the moon is bright October full pink

blushing like a Catholic schoolgirl

in a jumper of light clouds.

in the dark of December, the moon is citrus

like a candied orange sent in a foolish little confectioner’s box

by a distant crazy great-uncle who uses cologne and ribbons

I like moons with flavor and sass

moons with mind.

sometimes the moon bleeds red, red

and everyone runs for their Bible, sure the End is near

but there’s no red in sight—only a blurry light pink through binoculars

in the sky over the abandoned restaurant.

I sleep through the wandering eclipse

I sleep soundly as the moon bids Jupiter a polite kiss

the moon may find me sleeping in dust

as it wanes on my candle-eyed hours

on brown earth, on brown and green earth

the moth above me, the bed below me

laying down, laying down beneath my window.

even though the moon starts its garish rising

when it reaches full circle sky, it is pure white

and when the moon winds shake silver warm leaves

in the cracks between dark bare trees

I’ll think of waterfalls somewhere else.

beneath the moonfall, I long to be snow

my hummingbird heart beats a rhythm of silent snowfall

beneath my moon candle.

come silently born in the cold

come silently born in the sky.