Perchance it loves me too?
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Vicki and patty m.
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no one loves the same,
the moon, or me,
or you two too,
exactly exact,
or, especially
each other
every stream of light refracts differentiation,
rays scattered and triggering you-know-what
it is never by
perchance,
always by
first glance
rays that are moon ordained,
plotting paths on the river and bay
that check my souls consternation
asking me nightly,
come walk on water,
come to visit me,
when I am a verdant blue
once upon a time,
the moon would come to me
by early afternoon, so had a
doubleheader of celestial admirable
moon,
for its plotting morning carryovers
going all the way occasionally
to afternoon sunlight,
as if it is like love
that passes
through a checkpoint,
saying, see!
a safe transition
to the east/west passageway
of your humanity heavenly inclusive
I’ve loved creatures,
human and even better than them,
feminine and masculine,
never made any difference,
for it was never a competition
my whole soul went wet,
Olson,
from then till now,
when the love word escaped
my lips, troublemakers, happily,
the misery it provided was ecstasy,
made the poem solutions even better
but by now, august August,
woe within me, strong the sadness,
the end of summer chilling forces,
makes sure the dividing line
is redrawn and love and moonlight,
once inseparable,
are again fully distinct and
perchance,
come September
hopefully I’l forget and I won’t remember
all the rest,
just the best of the best of
you two poets scheming,
how to enlighten the world
with blue moon words
2:16pm,Sunday August 25
2019
