Three Days with the Long Moon
That field nag, old-penny
swayback. Low hawk, to
ducks in train to a quad of geese,
in case. Last night, the long
moon lay it seemed a tissue
of snow, but then dawn told
that wasn't so. Late morning, now,
the fire, the hearth, eggs
sitting for the mute plate
and fork, this pen making
a thing of them. Two more nights—
waterfowl safe and noisy
in the dusk, the low rails
running flank to the river
at midnight—find what they'll
make of that river, this moon.
Copyright Credit: Poem copyright ©2017 by Adrian Koesters, "Three Days with the Long Moon," from Three Days with the Long Moon, (BrickHouse Books, 2017). Poem reprinted by permission of Adrian Koesters and the publisher.
Source: 2018