Recycle the Moon

(Full moon, December 19, 2021)

Wrap your arms around her belly 

and (on the Solstice, December 21)

when she rolls through 

your bedroom window 

and lingers, hovering over your dreams,

cushion your head on her soft pillow chest,

watch her wistfully as her smooth, 

round back glides horizon-bound.

You wish you could go with her, 

but she has work to do:

Each night she sheds a layer (December 22)

Delivers a package (December 24)

Gives away a slice of light (December 26)

Sweeps the star-spangled sky (Dec. 28)

Dances till dawn (December 31)

until, unburdened of her own bounty 

she goes home, closes the door 

(New Moon, January 2)

and—well this is her secret—

Is she sleeping, baking lemon pie, 

composing a symphony, writing a poem?

You are curious to know: 

Does the moon, like you, want to be new?

Inside her sky-bowl she ponders and stirs, 

adds lunar alchemy until she’s ready, 

then opens the door just enough (January 4) 

so a sliver of silver slides through,

coy as the petal of an evening primrose.

And you hear the young moon’s 

saucy talk and flirty laughing

and you watch her belly growing 

big and bawdy and round (January 12)

and you wrap your arms around her 

and she’s the same old moon 

you knew before,

recycling her light, 

renewing her promise to return.

(Full moon January 17, 2022)