lost in moon song

the dark is crowded with sound

ding, dong, dong, ding . . .
bells ring the hour.
the moon is calling
it draws me barefoot
through my window,
to the churchyard
and down to visit my dead.
the path, still sun-baked warm
is smooth under my feet..
I’m lost in moon song.

chree, chree, chirp . . .
cricket wings vibrate a
counterpoint to the squeal
of the graveyard gate.
mist congeals to a fog.
wind swirls a vortex
lifts my hair high—
pulls me to her glowing stone—
an angel guarding her sleep.

ga-rum, ga-rum, ga-lumph . . .
from the pond,
the bellowing croak
of bullfrogs calling their
love into the universe.
she would squeal at the sound—
I can almost see her,
waving chubby hands,
blowing tiny bubbles,

yip, yip, yelp . . .
a coyote laughs
his loneliness to the moon—
and I reach out to touch
the memory of her.
she fades.
a howl aching in my chest.
the dark is crowded with sound.

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