This poem is set on the night of December 8, 2020 after I drove home from the masked and socially distant village with the half moon shining high in my windshield. It took me a while to get it right, going through rewrites over the following week.
Snow blows through, snow melts away.
Things come and things go – but mostly
go as 2020 wanes toward winter.
Southeast hangs a hazy half moon
upon the falling gloom, like a lone lamp
at the edge of the darkened village,
like a white mask across a black face
in the ICU at night amid the twinkling
pea lights of monitors and ventilators,
like a heart half of hope and half of fear.
All winter the winnowing will run while
the world leans on luck and awaits its shot.
I lean against the kitchen window looking out
at this halfling light that sails upon the night
and send after it all my silent prayers.
Love it. It is beautiful, peaceful, and sad.
It’s been a long time.. you didn’t give up on Poetry
or this blog did you?