November hymnal (18)
Mid-November dusk cut short its set.
The cloud curtain did not part for an encore.
The moon crawled up it like a bug,
Marmorated like the shield shaped insects
We removed from my son’s curtain hours
Earlier, tossing them carefully out the window
And watching them buzz into flight.
Now, curtain and window and screen thrown open,
We climbed out to the roof of the porch
And watched marbled imperceptible motion of the moon,
Like an insect that came all the way from Korea
To barely move on a blue curtain.
So much of the world seems that still
While changing things faster than we can notice.
For just a minute we sat still, too. It was my son’s first time
on the outside of the structure of things. He tallied
It up: angle of the roof, texture of the tar shingles, scent
Of the colorless night and when he said This would be
A great place to write I knew he meant everywhere just
outside structure, where things come a long way to seem still.