song with waxing gibbous moon
a sliver missing from the lefthand edge
that much shy of a silver perfect circle
in two nights bicyclists will still be pedaling
north on Williams Avenue past chain link & roses
& in truth the roses draw inward dulled by twilight
a vague crimson ache clotted in a front yard
but I was mentioning the moon’s imperfection
& thinking of gawky calla lilies on a lawn
otherwise gone to dandelion & ripple grass—
on another front porch a bicycle’s suspended
outlined in fairy lights—but as I was saying,
when I say moon I mean you—
you: a word all vowel & lacking a lefthand
edge in my mind, so when I say you
I mean me—when the full moon rises Friday
above bicycles & blossoms & this construction site’s
gravel & cyclone fencing I know already
its disc will glow amber behind clouds & clouds
AK Barkley
© 2014
