Waxing Crescent – 9:30 p.m.
I knew I wouldn’t see the moon
so I tried to memorize the sky
on this soft autumn night
winter feels far away
as distant as the crescent
its sharpness blurred
behind gauze-wrapped darkness
the night is as insubstantial
as the felting wool you used to love
even though the needle poked holes
in your small fingers
drawing forth fat drops of scarlet
the vibrance of your blood
is the only color I remember
because my brain is also wrapped
in felting wool
we’ll begin together
another October
can you still show me the moon?
I imagine you looking up
at age 8, the whole world
a reflected wonder
in your shining eyes