New Dog Under Gibbous Moon
I see the moon and the moon sees me,
God bless the moon and God bless me.
Though it waxes gibbous above the gazebo,
more than half full but not fully illuminated,
we bark at night’s starry door—me, for the moon
in its heaven to shower mercy and purpose;
the new dog, for me to notice only him in my turning
to others hung there, water bearer and hunter,
our constellated brothers. For I am his one light,
milk-faced, reflective. His ewe to be corralled
in the hills, these days more wayward than not.
In the longer orbit from crescent to sphere,
a child’s song rises: God bless the one
that I can’t see. The night sky sorrows over
that one, gone now from my yard, my life,
why I wail to the ether, glowing bodies
deaf with degrees of change, realignments,
waxing only to wane. Geometry has its way
with us, me and the sheepdog seeking goodness
in the eclipsed dark, even faithful Sirius,
Canis Major, at his master’s heel, the bull
still light-years away.
by Linda Parsons
Editor’s Note: The skillful interplay of astronomy and simple lullaby elevates this poem from mere narrative into art.