Lunar Triad
I.
I’ve read motorcycle crashes surge
during supermoons—imagine
the lone biker on the road, wrapped
in the night sky, eyes drawn inexorably up
by the bright orb in its perigee, filling
the horizon, momentarily mesmerized
as the bike skids into the rails. We live
beneath a spell of light and shadow, though
its spectacle casts its net, captures us,
only under extraordinary circumstances.
II.
Early January’s Wolf Moon
tried to overshadow the later moon,
called her Snow in a mighty swallow.
But Snow’s fullness eclipsed
the Wolf’s howl, slipped entirely inside
Earth’s umbral shade, bled red
in the crushing jaws of atmosphere’s
bending light, transformed herself
into Blood Moon: warrior victorious.
III.
O late January moon, who
do you want to be? Siren, shadow, beacon,
or bloodied? Your rare second appearance
paints you blue, your blueness
the end of a melancholy year,
a wash of sadness across a calendar
of loss passed in January last. Blue
flashes neon, a jazz saxophone’s notes
rising in wisps, a mournful ode
to those I won’t forget.
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Thank you for featuring my poems these past few days! I’ve been sharing your posts on social media.