Morning Moon

I saw the morning moon
a ghost in the September chill
a silent witness
lingering far past sunrise
perhaps defiant
as light spilled onto the horizon

loitering, impervious
ignoring the sun’s glare
intrigued with the blueing sky
amazed at the cardinal’s song

watching, with interest
the flicker of life within dark houses
examining the dog’s eager quest
for the perfect patch of grass