Half-Moon

Brightness seeps into the midnight air
at world’s edge, where a silver half-crown hides
behind the thrashing shadows of the trees.
A windy night. The moon is on the wane
from gibbous to a sliver, nail pared
to cuticle of light. It slips and slides
from dark to dark, a sail in search of breeze
to fill it full, a downless counterpane.

We seek a portent in this lunar dwindle
followed by rebirth: anthropomorphic
meanings written by us on the moon.
A leap of faith, imagination kindled,
inference unjustified but Orphic—
prophetic, half-deflated white balloon.


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