THE MOON WILL ONE DAY FALL:
Can a moment be all moments?
Or, rather, thinking clearly this evening as I stare up
at the distended moon, so heavy
she threatens to fall into labor
and scythes the world over gasp at the thought,
how can it be that many moments fractured in time
are able to resonate across disconnected events
so a similarity of attention captures us
(and we might even whisper
that it is the breath of the Goddess
or our flimsy soul finding itself aware
for the fleeting moment of thought
that haunts us)?
The arrow that pierces…
Achilles pursed lips shocked yet
knowing — his mother had, after all, warned him.
Penelope beneath me, her lips also pursed, her eyes
shocked yet knowing — her mother, after all,
had warned her.
The black ship cutting through waves, the sound
it makes somehow echoing her gasp,
and my heart’s rapid beat
and above us all The Moon —
mother, lover and fated to fall
and we all hope
we are there to see it
and that we are not,
for, like the Siren’s sound that lingers in my ears
long after we had passed that sweet voice’s range,
we will not forget it.