LUNAR ECLIPSE

A maid comes running into the house

talking about things beyond belief,

about the sky all turned to blue glass,

the moon to a crystal of black quartz.

It rose a full ten parts round tonight,

but now it’s just a bare sliver of light.

My wife hurries off to fry roundcakes,

and my son starts banging on mirrors:

it’s awfully shallow thinking, I know,

but that urge to restore is beautiful.

The night deepens. The moon emerges,

then goes on shepherding stars west.