March Moon

(8 quatrains)

1. new moon

sky looks even darker in sidewalk puddles;

not that black exuding light from three crows near

this bus stop though, where hawthorn limbs sway east, west:

is this dark enough to make a beginning

2. waxing crescent

traffic tells a story without lacunae—

still early after all, people punctuate

this sidewalk; above, on clouds’ turning pages:

skewed white comma erased, rewritten, erased

3. half moon

night sky’s torn page struck through with three power lines

glinting in rain & streetlights; two cherry trees

throw up gnarled empty hands in resignation—

half-circle smudged in cloud marginalia

4. waxing gibbous

lights constellate between saplings & painted

restaurant facades, all golden, some blinking,

stars that haven't quite fallen, seeking a myth:

white eye flashes through cinematic sky swirl

5. full moon

sedge lets its hair down, dozes pale on the slope;

big cedar watches over it, green boughs gone

blacker than sky where airplane & star flicker:

fullness lingers in cherry tree’s naked arms

6. waning gibbous

the hawthorn branches twist in these gusts, corner

to corner; one crow swoops sideways through straight rain—

one umbrella’s ribbed hemisphere draws nearer:

morning sky stretched solid, also breaking down

7. last quarter

sun burning white just above the roof peak; six

dark windows below out of its view; one house

facing it, glows with a reckless acceptance:

half moon sinks into clouds, the cherry tree’s breath

8. waning crescent

three gulls circle & circle, above, below

the Burnside’s arc; gray cumulus tinged white rings

the sky tall maples reach into, draw back

in wind that carried the last moon past the blue

Jack Hayes

© 2017