Luna

Old man
With half a face
Blinding out the Hyades

Old boat
Encrusted with barnacles
Pulling in its wake
Lunatics and women

You are goddess, chariot,
Artemis leading the wild hunt --
Basking in a brother's mirrored glory
Forever

Does my blood reach out to you
Like the waters of the world?
Dead, stepped-on rock
Holding our litter and our past
Frozen in stone

I know you, Queen of Wanderers --
Just a satellite
Cold companion to a marble
Wearing a stolen halo
And giving your aid to common thieves

Yet -- I dance with you
Your moods flow through me
And in the fullness of your chill grey glare
I will howl

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This one was written back in 2001, and I'm starting with it partly because it's short (back then I was writing a lot of long, wordy rambles) and partly because I can still stand it.

I usually cringe when I look back at my old poems.

It's a pretty basic meditation on the moon and its various aspects: male/female, mystic/prosaic; that sort of thing. The moon's been looked at in many ways over its history (or should I say over human history. I have no idea whether the dinosaurs even noticed the moon), and while it's lost some of its mystery since we've been up there and walked on it (if you believe the moon landings really happened... and yes, I do) it's interesting to me that on a clear night it can still make me wish it had some of that mythological power back.