Member Rara Avis
-when the moon glowed red-
Between two trees and
The sound of planes,
Slow shadow travels.
Then bright as moonlit glass
Darker at its tinge than the night sky,
Lower half god-hidden
In curved starlessness.
Skyhigh upward facing crescent,
Downturned side black,
Spreading a million gallons of frozen ink.
In front of me, a pool lit by underwater lights,
Reflections from sequined coils around tree trunks.
Its surface except for shadows false.
(I remember when I was a boy in church,
Every light reflection was a laser
Or iridescent insect caught in my frames.
When I moved my head,
The lasers would travel through whole pews.
People not realizing they were now shot.
Secular against the sacred.
I used to will the altar candles to jump.
Sometimes the flames followed my instructions.)
A bright sliver now perched against a treetop.
The lowest branches like sculpted piles of light.
The uppermost risen to abstract darkness.
Now like a smile, then nothing.
I imagine I see a dark smudge.
"Maybe it fell out of the sky and into the pool," a child says to his mother.
Finally, the patchwork banks roll away.
The moon is reddish hewn,
A planet more than a satellite.
Far removed from the treetops and floating freely, beautifully, shared.