Tonight the moon
is a bright orange light,
as big as if full
but only three-quarters now
and hanging low down
under its nearest star.
I am glad to note that star
always attached to the moon.
I call to my love to come down
where he can see the surprising light
of this almost-orb we have now
blazing, not quite at the full.
Once he was full
of energy, sizzling like a star,
but frail and slow now.
Still he is thrilled by the moon
sending orange light
through the trees, and comes down
to where he can see it whole. I help him down
the steep stairs. Out in the yard, we are full
of childlike delight,
standing gazing at moon and star.
‘Yes,’ he says, ‘An astonishing moon.
I see it clearly now.
‘But I must go back up now.
I feel unsteady here. I think I might fall down
when I tilt my head back to look at the moon.’
Already my pleasure is full,
having shared with him tonight’s bright moon and star.
‘Let’s go!’ I say, keeping it light.
We climb back up the stairs by orange light
shining on us here, tonight, now.
I follow him like that attendant star
which follows the moon up and down
the arc of the sky; follows from new to full
and through the dwindling to the dark moon.
Leaving the moon, we enter interior light
knowing that life is full even though slower now —
having adventured down to an orange moon and a star.
Journalling my relationship with the moon: 20