As bright as the moon so full tonight
The next day will calm down all thought
Waiting for another night Sunday night
in the monthly meaning of the Harvest moon.
Zucchinis, ripe tomatoes, odd potatoes, fresh peaches
farmed into the senior community’s market
full of pride, flavor and good size
mean nourishment sweet in the late summer.
Yet — something is missing.
As low as the full moon rise, a new reality awaits.
No words describe the next step so poignantly as love.
In that solitude, a Divine presence awakens the night,
the Full Moon evolves with wholeness, organic, tissue clean.
On the other side of the night’s bright sky,
there is no smoothie, no glass of wine, no comfort food,
and there is no consciousness–it is blackness, lights out,
Only instruments of surgical cleanliness and godliness.
The early morning pauses, seemingly indefinitely long,
as the moon now falling, the harvest on sale, the flowers wilting,
and the fruits and vegetables and pork shoulder respect this silent patience.
That next step, the defining tool dug deep into the body and soul, timed
for a laparoscopic, microscopic sampling of tissue.
Skillful hands handle the dark interior in precision as quicksand.
Daylight embraces a shorter day: the patient awakes,
the full moon gone: the sky is clearer, the harvest over.
The Cosmos, like its flower, blooms cautiously, slowly, sparkling, colorfully, exalting
renewed vision. It’s September.
Life goes on.