Kathleen Kaska
Moving Moon
In the dark morning, I wake,
surprised to find a waxing moon perched
in the upper pane of my bedroom window,
setting there like a Warhol painting.
Half-moon in East Window.
Soon the white sickle will slide from view,
leaving behind a yellow haze;
a reminder that it will return
the same time next year.
But will I be awake to notice
if it has changed, a wrinkle
in its perfect curve, a dark spot
marring its smooth surface?
Before it disappears, I reach out
and hang my hopes on its hook—
a dangling bag of wishes
carried around the globe
on the tail of a celestial kite.
© copyright Kathleen Kaska 2005