Tomato moon. Pocked plum moon.
Burnished lychee moon. (There were lychee hulls
on my kitchen counter yesterday morning.)
Nelson and I sat out on the front steps
and watched the last sliver of sunlight ease
from the lunar face. We shared a hand-stitched
blanket, remnant of one of N.'s high-school
romances. For some reason the whispered
conversation turned to moral values,
and their source in oneself. N. spoke of the
profound impact of the deaths he has experienced
in his lifetime. All this at 3am!
Thank-you, universe, for this fortuitous