Early evening and the bridges
but still low. Still low, so low.
all bone, tendon and gristle,
all black abstract expressionist,
hung medium ground,but still low. Still low, so low.
Early evening and the carrara sky,
only crept and webbed
with streaks of black.
The rest not yet, not yet.Early, and the cranes, still and silhouetted
as long-beaked, waiting-things of prey,
black there.
Black against this earliness.And then, the terns and sea birds lift,
the real flying things, taking so much silhouette.
And there it is, low and huge:
the real flying things, taking so much silhouette.
And there it is, low and huge:
joy, up, rising.
Wide. Round. Made of light.There, the full moon just above.
There, and even grazing, touching
as if that land root didn’t matter,
seemed nothing there beneath it.
There, and even grazing, touching
as if that land root didn’t matter,
seemed nothing there beneath it.
And seeing it, to my sudden silence,
I asked with all my breathing — asked …?
And then,
Could not any more than it —
I asked with all my breathing — asked …?
And then,
loud, full and rising out of me,
that joy, all, all that I could not contain.Could not any more than it —
the bright and shining moon.
