Still the Moon

Still the moon rises as if content
gibbous, waxing, untouched by the world
as it is, half-hidden face, distant

So much withheld, touch has gone absent
the earth spins wild unbearable nights turn
still, the moon rises almost content

a white swan on her nest, curled constant
and close, the safe quiet beach, one eye
gleams light, a half-hidden face, distant

you note every day’s endless extent
in the city where people are dying
still the moon rises, as if content

with your absence, eight wearied weeks spent
away, are you well, audio fades
video blurs, half-hidden face, distant

each day now we say, soon but not yet
the unbearable absence of touch
still the moon rises as if content
where you are, half-hidden face, distant.

Still the Moon photo.jpg
Spike: Poems in the time of Pestilence, (eds.  Antony Christie, Caroline Menzies, Harry Posner, Richard-Yves Sitoski, Hazel Smith, Claudia Strelocke,) Cannon’s Creek Press, December, 2021, p.26; previously published in Juniper Poetry 4:2, October 2020