Moon Day Morning

I slept in a new shirt

to be ready for your singing dawn.

The cat alarmed me before the clock

and the door, church like, opened

to the grey curtain of the northwest

and the eastern ridge aglow.

The yoke of the full moon

broke over the ocean

and the town’s outskirts. Traffic,

paces the fog, paves through

the redwoods, puts people

in their place.

The ordinary praise of escaping breath

marks the morning good. Birds raise

the standard. The sky, enlarged

by looking, houses all perspective.

If we call it prayer we call it by

another name for a rose.

Will SchmitComment