The moon rises, watching over everything,
but not white, all white. Not at first.
More softly and silently
attune to the scale of starlight.
And what the gaze marvels
brushes along my cheeks
without landing on the edges.
No footsteps echo on the path behind,
no reminder of shadow falls
like drops in the night.
Seeking its inflorescent pole,
imitating the color of sunlight.
And blushing at its own beauty
hides for a moment behind a cloud,
then reveals such a treat on its own terms,
gentle to the night’s darkness.
Happiness rises in me, shimmering in the moonlight.
But who would have thought the feeling
is a great constellation akin to love
making me a paean?
For only in love is my heart whole and still mine,
filled with joy and song.
Not a single breath of delight escapes.
Stephen Cipot
Garden City Park
