FLOWER MOON
The moon is close
Nor is the moon a flower
In the field- the earth shields half of the sun- to shine upon the bright light to guide
Us
Like youth in the field, we climb
As children do
See into other homes
Examine the pigs left out
(Black pigs we don’t eat)
Walk past the waterfalls and scenes
Of distant landscapes- untouched by Coronavirus
As if Bob Ross made this landscape
Too perfect
Sensitive when we sit in the swing-
I am not getting into the swing,
Of anything
I am using my body to crawl the ants away who
Gather on the cloths with sugar soiled outside the sink
And doing laundry
And yes, drinking,
With Hemingway in my mind
We are all unhappy and happy and alone
full of contradiction
So, we keep going
If it takes a couple years off the top, is it worth it?
To not die alone
but in the company of the other masters
- like the moon
