I try to imagine the new moon
The air’s a washed pale blue.
The boat, powered by two oars.
The lopsidedness as you swung
left and right.
I try to imagine the new moon.
Before breakfast, my son made
seafood pasta, and somewhere
between the taste of scallops
& fusilli, the air was hinged
with a door & a gorgeous double
rainbow, against the blue.
Somewhere, a bird,
a different sky, a boat
of unconditional love.
