Still drunk, I got up
to walk on the moon
in the water…
The birds had all gone
to nest;
humans, also, had
grown few.
Li
Po
the rain’s still,
and the mist is gone...
in the olive leaves
a setting
crescent
moon—
what’s not lost:
our moon
was full
when I arrived
and full again
when I departed
somewhere
beneath it all
the smallest between
the grass and reeds
in the water
marshes:
the
impossibly alluring curve
of a bittern.
small heron,
I’ve never
seen you here.
but I want to.
if you’re here
so am I.
like the tide.
without regrets—
and the long walk
into you
is punctured
throaty
and low.
but I’m so new
to you
I’m not sure
I’m just not sure.
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