Letter from Insomnia
Accepting Li Po’s tragedy,
apocryphal or not,
we embrace her imperfect
reflection
rippling in the breeze,
but manage to surface.
I once thought I would name a child Luna
and she would glow at night
and like Hendrix, kiss the sky.
But that was whimsy
and only candles light this room
at this hour
on this particular day
in this year of the snake.
And what fool would reach for a stone orbiting at
1,023 meters per second?
There are clouds to consider, the stars
and the scattering rain
and of course wine
and the possibilities within each glass
and the drops therein.
We must discuss these matters
under her gaze, where smallness gathers.
* * *
This originally appeared in Middle Gray in October, 2013. It was written in response to a poem my friend Michael sent me, replying to this poem.
O at the Edges 
Such a lovely moon poem!
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I managed, a few months after writing this, to sit outside under the Sacramento moon with my friend Michael, his wife, and several bottles of wine. Oh, to have such days/nights!
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We keep talking about adding a deck out back, with a porch swing from which one (or two) could observe the moon rising over the honeysuckle-covered fence. A glass (or two) of wine would (will) be welcome.
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We have a deck, but I think we need to add a screened porch. Mosquitoes swarm around me (even with repellent slathered on), and as much as I enjoy sitting out at night, the bites greatly reduce the pleasure.
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