Notes Before The Blue Moon

 30 October 2020

The moon is bright enough to sing drunk or sober.

Watch how the range grass responds to the lover wind.

An owl is hooting, so musical after dark when all else is still.

Nothing is as it seems because we see only what seems to be.

We think of disappearing without thinking about

what disappearing means when existence ends. 

I would love to roll with the inside of a fragrance,

then I’d know what a fragrance really is.

The grasslands are always fragrant— 

I would be that; it would be me.

Of forgetting and disappearing, The Watcher says, 

Don’t forget that stuff. You might need it.

From: A Rambly Search for Innocence, Time, and Love

Unpub. MS p. 10