The Nature of Energy

We’re in an after-lunch discussion,

Andrew, Marian, David and me,

about the nature of energy, the way

that it works, how it doesn’t matter

what name or explanation you give,

the underlying principles are the same.

There must be a trade, we agree,

when asking for favours. The balance 

must be kept; you can’t have a vacuum. 

So I remember, when I get home

I must pick fresh flowers for Brigid.

She’s been generous with the poems.

I snip two pink geraniums, four big leaves,

and choose the heavy green glass vase 

that Earl and Roberta gave me long ago

when they were still married, and I 

was with Bill — a gift, you see, from poets.

I stand it before Her picture on my desk.

Later I walk out under the darkening sky

for mundane reasons, and there

unexpected, unlooked-for, the moon

half full, floats above my clothesline

looking like a slice of lemon for a drink.

After all these nights of absence! Easy 

and casual as if it was no big deal, as if 

she’d never been hidden. ‘I am at peace 
with the world,’ says Andrew. So am I.

Journalling my relationship with the moon: 10

Included in the book, THREE CYCLES OF THE MOON