New year’s first full moon
lolls in the position of perigee
shrouded in snow clouds.
Can I trust you are there?
with Mars, to the left of you,
reddish and star-like,
bowing in your magnitude
that tilts heads skyward,
breeds madness, begets life--
yet cannot satiate, like a jewel
too grand to pocket or the pull
of tides--showy but of no use
to the cold wolf, who
by Native American legend,
howled to your white eye
in deepest winter hunger.
Tell me: Did you listen?
Did you answer his call?
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Nice one. I love the idea that the moon "cannot satiate." Love "howled to your white eye" and those last two lines.
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