Sonnet for the May Full Moon
(may 13, 2006)
Hail, lady Moon, though veiled in storm and rain:
thick clouds layer humble meadow in flood.
So much water wrinkles skin and chills blood,
and so much at one time is no one’s gain:
ant hill, earthworm, and wren find only pain.
Apple blossoms flutter from broken bud,
and red fox leaves deep prints in soupy mud,
and few of springtime’s first flowers remain.
Yet green forest gleams with crisp perfection.
Ten thousand grasses rise in the meadow,
in hues quite foreign to April’s verdance.
Hawk notes both speed, and sparrow’s direction,
and terrifies mice with passing shadow.
Rain cleans wisteria’s transcendence.
