moon

in the valley, the moon
dances down the steps laughing
on the edge of the desert
the moon under the pier
snaps its fingers
on the dry plains, it hangs low
casts light disinterestedly
across the broad avenues
over the hills, it gleams
far and high, and lays
itself gleaming down, on the clouds
my eyes are so wide and deep
they swallow it whole
it sinks in their depths
still I--yank it free of the silt
and scrape it free of crickets
and have hung it, for you, on this sheet
--and so I have hopes of my reflection, also.