Maple & Moon


Why should I describe

my feelings for the backyard maple

and the moon I spy

through branches like a lace curtain

as it rests upon mighty Mount Tom

that from here I must conjure

from memory and imagination

as the neighbor’s house blocks my view

I mean the maple is not really so old

as trees go

kind of middle-aged I think

or maybe assume stemming from my desire 

for companionship

I don’t really know

having only lived here 13 years

which is the longest I’ve lived anywhere

but not so long if counting

against the life of a solid maple

and the moon is the moon 

to which poets greater than myself

have written many a rapt epistolary 

so there hardly seems any value

in my tepid musings on moonlight

and what it reveals