They haven’t named the moon I see yet,

the one that’s in-between super states.

I’m between moods at the moment,

or more accurately, beside them

and it’s a dangerous feeling,

one of shadow and hard edges.

.

Night is a relief, when things are done

enough for the time being and I can rest,

though my heart doesn’t. 

.

I follow the moonscape over the snow,

without thinking about angles or time 

and for the time it takes to count 

a dozen stars, I breathe a little softer. 

I’m not wishing for tomorrow, just that

yesterday will fade a bit more. 

Bits of poinsettias on the kitchen table.

Some cookies and truffles left.

Dustings of sugar left on the tray.

.

A few snowflakes swirl in the frigid gusts.

The hills are growing farther away.

Dustings of salt and snow on the tires.

.

It’s a new day but inside, old packaging. 

Files of stories waiting, forgotten.

Dustings of memories just out of sight.