Once, about thirty years ago, I was walking home on an autumn night and there, off on the horizon, hung the most orange moon I'd ever seen -- the Harvest Moon. I quickly went home and wrote this poem.
Orange moon, negative sun
of the smoky night
you rise, you fall
you borrow light
caught your tail
in love with sol
whom you glimpse
over the curve
of earth's hip
When will you embrace them again?
Luminous stone
in a splash
of diamonds
sprinkled through
the dark mane of
this sultry sky
