Waxing Crescent – 8:30 p.m.
I’m waiting for the light to flicker out
so I can see the murky sky more clearly
my resolve is slipping because
it’s so much colder tonight
the wind’s breath is a warning
perhaps premonitory
of lingering snow
and concrete clouds
but what about the moon?
it’s rarely visible from the antigravity chair that rests in the center of my lawn, where the swingset once was–old and rusted (like me)
I can’t remember what colors were painted on that relic
blue and white, I think, with a smear of red
but here I am forgetting to describe the moon
yet again
in its perpetual absence, the sky is just as windblown
as the shivering trees. I’m worried about the warblers-
that they might leave before the rain comes
I can feel the heavy storm
deep within my aching bones