the enormous yellow moon
balanced like a honeydew

on the hill’s knife-edge,
fat and implacable.

It wavered there as long as it could,
then started — who can blame it —

its slow slide.
As if it meant to show me what was missing.

As if the world were asking, Will you learn
to stand beside this pain?

No, I said,
I wish it dead.

I said no. But the world
said yes.