Television Moon

                       ‘With how sad steps, O Moon …’

Oh, author of such a line,

Do you watch me these hundreds of years hence

With kind eyes?

Where are the ages between the ancients and me?

Spirits are pacing the night.

And do they walk, too, on the moon,

Like jesters,

Ballooning across its scarred face

In seven league boots

Mumbling folksy information

Through inverted fishbowls?

 

And you, O Moon … thou lyrical sorceress …

You cratered mass reflecting a dying sun!

How do I reconcile my heart and my head?

I, the Relentless Romantic,

Do vainly pursue

The musty culture of your fair legend

With muddy mind and scaled eyes,

Mirrors no longer of your sheer beauty.

Hearken! Silver Rock!

Help me to draw a magic circle

Wherein I may stride my giant step

From goddesses to stars.

 

Cynthia Buell Thomas np