Restless
Moons pass my windows.
Halves and gibbous, crescents, and full flat coins,
Not in any particular order, which is to say
I’m not watching them pass each day,
or waiting for the sky to empty
so the stars could shine through.
I recognize only a few constellations,
none I’m especially attached to. No,
I have no spiritual guide, so I notice the moons
intermittently, safe from my enclosure,
this living room with its couch and desk,
the books, the usual companions.
This room, sometimes a cage
and at others, a sanctuary,
filled with plants. The leaves reach
for the windows, trying to escape.
Meanwhile I’m singing to them, stay with me.
Be my wilderness, my cultivated,
contained wilderness. They don’t listen,
they’re hearing the keening of the moon
as it shifts shape, drifting
toward the aimless city.
Halves and gibbous, crescents, and full flat coins,
Not in any particular order, which is to say
I’m not watching them pass each day,
or waiting for the sky to empty
so the stars could shine through.
I recognize only a few constellations,
none I’m especially attached to. No,
I have no spiritual guide, so I notice the moons
intermittently, safe from my enclosure,
this living room with its couch and desk,
the books, the usual companions.
This room, sometimes a cage
and at others, a sanctuary,
filled with plants. The leaves reach
for the windows, trying to escape.
Meanwhile I’m singing to them, stay with me.
Be my wilderness, my cultivated,
contained wilderness. They don’t listen,
they’re hearing the keening of the moon
as it shifts shape, drifting
toward the aimless city.