THE MOON IN THE GLASS

I

This

wobbly table

sets wildness at odds with itself,

summons friends from the dead.

Its lamp gels the dark.

So unlike light.

As a boy I saw how it rose

from the plains of color,

full moon over wheatfield, cornstalks,

a map of wellsprings.

II

Tonight

midnight’s chill,

a stone scribed over rooftops,

the sea breathing unseen.

Dilemmas, the agonies of choice,

the lost hemorrhaging of those one loves,

this table strewn with wooden teeth,

scorched masks, shadows aflame

surrounding a water glass,

at its bottom

a drowning moon.