Snow Moon
Running late into backyard night,
to put out white bin, Snow Moon,
going on to full, astounds me. Dazzled
by lunar brilliance, I throw up arms
against her avalanche of light.
Clouds ceased all their rampage,
bright stars beam serene. Near flat calm,
so mild, I'm casual in shirt and trousers.
She likes to sit up contemplating
the fates of those she did deep-dazzle;
she has many unseen leanings and
the machinations of her being glow
with subtleties, intricacies to renew.
But how mess so with my sleepy head?
I wake up. Vision fading, dulls to lead.
......................
*The full moon in February is called the 'Snow Moon'. It is not yet full here.
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Walking Back from the Garage, 08:40
Within a sky of cloudless blue,
catkins hang so russet deep on birch.
Blossom bides in buds of sun-raked trees,
likewise do leaves. T minus one
or two months, and counting dreams.
Among the junipers and yews,
songbirds practise spring melodies,
perched on headstones over withering
flowers and shooting bulbs.
High over dinning traffic,
magpies hop-glide stealthily
from tree to tree down these long avenues
to better their intent.
Lightest frost has left us
fresh but zeroed.
Sleepy pigeons wedged way up
in forks and crooks of boughs
now warm themselves,
sun-feathered as they doze,
too lazy yet to sermonize.
..