Moon Series 2016 - Day 6

Waxing Crescent -- 8:37 p.m.

This same spot
where the old table was
where we sat, peering up,
hoping to see it,
counting stars,
wondering at the thick, painted sky,
black as soot,
black as sleep,
black as the stone hearth,
its embers, long dead.
but this night,
this cold, clear, cloudless night,
yields no moon
I doubt it even exists
though I saw it glimmer, a wink,
between a clutch of leaves
(their story almost over)
I search the sky
as if each star is a gift owed to me
a found treasure
plucked from the dark canopy of space
to wear at my throat