Almost Full Moon

The almost full moon shines down on early night trees
Casting a reflection, like a mirror from top to bottom.
My walk halts as I reach for understanding.
Or is it a photograph? Try as I might to wait—
I walk on to know more.

There’s no me now separate from the walk.
It’s a large pond. I’m hearing the wind move and whistle like a gift unwrapping.
On any other day, I’d miss this night—
The quiet beauty of it all.
But now, after what happened at dawn, I see.

I remember an old poem I wrote called, On the eve of my greatness.
I must have been young then.
I thought somehow there was an eve of some greatness to be discovered—
When every morning and every evening I’m on the brink.
That was a beautiful poem.
It still has an aftertaste like sherry.

I walk around the pond still patchy with evidence of yesterday’s deep freeze.
I listen to my feet hit the ground with a gentle softness that softens me.
Yet, I feel sturdy—and rounded out.
There’s a calm stride growing out of my feet that I appreciate.
There’s no need.

The calm shimmer of it all is such an experience!

I stop and look down into the water and it becomes even more clear.

Each person we meet is an almost full moon.
When we take the time to notice—
The fine details from top to bottom, like the rhythm or the spread.
How high we’re reaching rather than knowing.
For example. It’s telling.

Like now. You are the top to my bottom, or the bottom to my top.
You are the almost full moon glistening.
You are my mirror, riddled with insight and meaning—
A photograph with a hidden universe.
Tomorrow’s almost full moon will be something else to discover.