New

We wake up and feel the absence of warmth.

*** 
Waxing Crescent

Slowly now, we embrace
the blossoming light all around.
Was sleep an absence
from the world, or an immersion
in it? Eyes open, the lights
offer us their hands.

We take them,
relishing the sounds
on our skin as they whiz
by and past and
away.

***
First Quarter

These days, we are compelled
to begin. We’ve arrived
at some leg of the journey.
How is irrelevant.

All that matters is the nowness
of the unmanned commands
we obey. They say
joy comes with time,
but we demand to meet it
today.

***
Waxing Gibbous

It turns out
we don’t have much
or any control
over when we become.

We seem complete, yes,
so maybe we are.
We can’t imagine
what it is to be real.

***
Full

We see it now.

If up is defined by our solar sister,
we lay on our backs, facing up.
We feel her power until she paints
the insides of our eyelids
scarlet red. We feel
until it’s dangerous
to open our eyes.

In the oceans, we don’t see
the tides we convey
nor the stories we illuminate.

***
Waning Gibbous

Maybe the shadows are now
our home, and the light
only an excursion.

It’s time to retreat,
back to the shape
that makes us recognizable,
distinct from the rest,
ordinarily us.

***
Third Quarter

Our greatest fear
is to be forgotten.
We wait for the reverberations
of our actions to recede,
then ask

what will seed and take root
and sprout and launch
and fly, not unlike a rocket,
but as far from the sky 
as the ground?

We don’t need to make sense.
To a star, are we not the heavens?
***
Waning Crescent

We know now,
it’s a sin not to think of the body
as a celestial being,
hot to the touch

Sure, we chase the impossible,
but only to circumvent
the possible.

Yes, I am a lunatic;
yes, I will sing for you.

No one will unsee
our imprint in the darkness
and of course
the constellations in
and of our minds
can’t escape them,
not because we can’t forget their harmonies,
but because we can’t remember
their ending.

The stars had it right the first time.