On Knuckle’s Edge

Pink Moon, balance me
on the hand of wonder,
knuckle's edge between
cold and warm, I will wear
my quilted red explorer's coat,
plant my rubber boots,
I will not be pulled to look
anywhere but below your gaze;
today I will not look up to weigh
how over a span of incomprehensible time
you are drifting from earth, or ponder
how you make the day a grain longer.

Fish Moon, shad swimming upstream
to spawn, coral beneath the reef
listening, I will imagine a ring
of silvery woods, a deep blue lake,
moss pink wildflowers, I will find them
for you, you will find them for me.