The Moon & I

by Tom Beck

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The moon hangs in the evening sky,

Where the eagles and vultures fly.

A slice of alabaster skin.

Through her gate, she lets the night in.

 

The moon is an orb, swollen round,

Where the dead leaves of autumn are found.

And when the lavender pushes through,

The moon remains upon my view.

 

And everyday I walk these streets.

Somewhere in the sky — my eye — she meets.

A different place, a different shape,

Her lights upon the doldrums drape.

 

Circle back to where we went.

Everything's the same — and different.

Upward roves my impatient eye,

And the moon hangs in the evening sky.