by Alice D'Alessio

Full Moon Tonight

Now that the guests are gone
packing their leftover mousse,
their aches and unfulfilled intents,
we take a walk around the block
shaking out crumbs. Yellow window squares
and street lights
eat away great sections of the night.

First fallen leaves crush underfoot.
I'm dragging my bucket of sad notes:
the decisions made wrong
that can't go right, and how one yes or no
can trigger aftershocks
eroding your heart inch by inch,
like weathering shale. The inevitability of it.
How it grabs you in the gut at night.
How it goes on.

Then you gather my jangled chords
in both your hands, and patient as a prayer,
reconstruct the melody. Turning the corner
we see the full moon rise above the roofs.

We put on Miles and wrestle dirty dishes.
At night we float in silver moon-surf,
riding a sea half full,
half empty.
-from Earth's Daughters 2003