Luna

The moon at day.

 

Luna

 

I understand nothing
about the skies above
its heavenly bodies
marbles in a cosmos at play

I hardly look up
from my daily circuit
to see the clockwork sky
its miraculous caliber overhead.

Yet today the moon commanded
my gaze. Perfectly round, she
stood high over the day: face bright
but veiled against a clarity of blue.

I understood finally the whispers
the promise and threat about her.
Understood too the name calling
she endures: Luna   lunacy   lunatic

Drawn to her, I scarce had
eyes for the road ahead.

Curious to see more of my writing?  Visit me – Brenda Joyce Patterson – on Facebook, Twitter, and my website.

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