Calling the moon

And if my smile seems straight as the Tropic of Cancer, it’s because
nature isn’t magic, it’s just a mystery to us …




It’s a bit cloudy round here, which isn’t just a metaphor for the dark and stormy times we find ourselves in. I got some beautiful views of the waxing moon last week, but over the weekend it has been hidden behind a grim drizzle. Again, not just a metaphor. In lieu of an actual supermoon, for others who may not be able to see it, here is a poetrymoon:


Moon Salutation


This is what you came home for, you

and the mountain and the forest and the stars in the dark


and the moon, half a blink from full,

low, white and cool as the eye


of a jackdaw in the feathered night. You move

slowly at first, where the trees block the light.


The wood expands, contracts you down

the gallery of its ribs. Your breath is a tight


hiss in your ears, strange as the voices

you catch spilling up from the village, mixed


with hoots of an owl, the crunch of boots

on leafmeal and gravel. The open is silvered,


fixed in reverse – a daguerreotype portrait.

You stop at each curve of the path and stare.


The valleys drown under floods of fluorescing

cloud. The high ground glints and shifts.


Noises rise like sounds above surface

heard under water, distorted – a shout –


a motorbike’s revs as the church clock strikes

midnight. You count the chimes, climb


far out at sea, dreaming land

from the ghost of a ship’s bell tolling. Scared


of falling, but more of sinking. You keep

pushing uphill. Your bare arms shine


like armour. You are a crescent, waxing.

A few feet further, half an hour longer,


and you’ll be complete: a perfect mirror,

spheroid and luminous, reflecting everything,


unable to go back, ever.



From my forthcoming collection Basic Nest Architecture. An earlier version appeared in Flax 018: The Crowd Without.


And for those who prefer their moon singing, a few highlights from my ‘moon’ playlist:




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