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Moon Aching Song

Singing softly now from your altar of stone and staring from cold caverns far away yet somehow close and intimate like a sigh or breath from the one I love lying next to me, moon aching song almost full but rounded as a tear, as hip bone of woman or the sound of my own voice in wonder and in sorrow, moon pouring song and holy dust motes of contemplation drifting all around, how I wonder and wander down the steep staircase of the days before getting lost in a forest, in a field, in a river and the gladdening sounds of rushing water to clean and burnish this inmost feeling heart, moon laden song how is it we look up at you on a clear winter night only three degrees and snow all around in vast shrouding of peace, moon pregnant song in the fervent now where prayer and longing live in the clef notes of deer tracks in the snow, who sang of you long ago as I try to sing of you now, what man or woman or was it a child who gazed up at you in the wide awake dream of heaven, moon dripping song and all becoming, the seasons and the tides and the electromagnetic strings of the earth pulling at our heels deep inside the ground, moon benighted song and the lyric rising up in any throat before it is even felt or whispered, moon swaying song and Ecclesiastes for there is a time to laugh and a time to stack the firewood, a time to make tomato soup and a time to play the dulcimer or sheep-skin drum, a time to lick the envelope and a time to cry out Moses, a time to dig up radishes and a time to hang clean sheets out on the line in billows of ever after, a time to burn the pages and a time to blow a kiss, a time to attribute personal meaning to dire weather and a time to walk out into a thunderstorm half-naked, a time to write lyrics on a napkin and a time to throw this same napkin into a bon fire so moon blossoming song and the stripped branches of every tree, how you teach us forbearance and letting go and never turning away, how in all your luminous staring God still somehow abides or behind it and the starlight reflected in a spoon, a bottle cap, oh, moon delivered song above a lake in the woods and the threadbare syllables of hello and goodbye and not nearly always barely just enough out of reach close by and fading in the melted aftermath of a candle burning down.

Robert Vivian

Robert Vivian's latest book, All I Feel Is Rivers, is just out with the University of Nebraska Press. He lives and teaches and fly fishes in Michigan.

About

Robert Vivian's latest book, All I Feel Is Rivers, is just out with the University of Nebraska Press. He lives and teaches and fly fishes in Michigan.