POETRY
Moonlight and Speculation
a prose poem for Beavertail
Sepia moon allows the pale stars, the multicolored auras of planets, reflects from the rumbling, pixelated edges of the sea.
Sepia moon pulls the indigo ocean — sucking on the rugged fringe of scraggly, unashamed shoreline, molding intimate coves, dips, and slopes.
Eons of revision on the perfection of moments, leading to now — the immaculate result.
The worn trees, so modest and noble, bifurcate in the sharp, salted, Atlantic soil.
Roots constrict shale cliff faces until they crumble in their thick, twisted, living clutches of sweet cedar.
This erosion, this constant pull of shifting energy — did you need another reminder that life is loaned?
These fragile nerves, the sensation of everything, as temporary as the shape of the coast.
I can’t run out of sense before I know how to marvel at the mystery without trying to pin it down like an unfortunate butterfly under the glass.
Let the great truth fly before me in a luminous, heart-stopping instant, only to depart again, free.
Fluttering away, undisturbed, into a beyond I can’t imagine, into realms untouched by moonlight and speculation.
