Frail Moon Poem by Jenny Kalahar

Even the distant, frail moon has left me
the darkness of trees more solid than shadow
black hulks surrounding me
as I stand with balled fists, crying
mourning yesterday's familiarity
swept away in late winter's bitter winds.
I cannot find a direction home

Even the distant, frail moon is silent
slumbering behind nightclouds and uncaring
offering nothing
no guidance
no illumination
no poetry that usually fills my soul

I fall to comforting grass
the ill-named blades soft and uncutting at my knees.
A creek, cold but buoyant rushes nearby
keeping life afloat though I can't see all that it holds
and now it is the only thing I hear
so I question if gurgling water may be your voice
or may be the sound my yearning heart makes

I feel around with hands for anything warm
or solid
or hopeful
and find a hand
grasping
firm
resilient
and am pulled from the ground
wrapped in steadfast arms
your reassuring voice a reality
and you and I howl in jubilant reuniting
until clouds are forced to part
and the frail moon, curious
hovers
entangled in the highest bare branches
swelling into brightness
less distant
less frail
proud of mankind
because our faces are upturned and dry
as we hold
as we stand
as we howl again
as we hope