Ole Vixen Moon

It's the waning gibbous that I love most
suggesting a great lady in her prime
rising later every night like the ghost
of a lover trapped in echoing time
who furthermore must mount her lonely search
knowing midnight as the gateway to find
the faintest glow of love from her cold perch;
lost men, children, or pets of any kind.

Love boils in her stony, cratered heart,
as she just touches with moonbeams and tides
the distant planet where life is an art
and consistent blessing for grooms and brides.

And poets! Sometimes looking back on her
as a sympathetic connoisseur  
of loving things that are just out of reach...
much famished beneath an uppermost peach.