Merlot with the Moon
I row my paddle boat midway
across the olive-green lagoon,
and stare at the stitched quilt of night.
Patchwork planets and constellations
climbing Sea Goat
stringed Lyra
barking Big Dog
pieced together with irregular threads
of light above me.
I pour a glass of merlot,
raise it to the moon.
Invite her to join me.
Lunar lips sealed,
Moon cannot swallow even one sip.
I drink her share and dance.
Clumsy, drunk shadow sways.
Friends forever, I swear.
My voice ripples out over water.
I fall asleep, promising we will meet again.
Happy Hour
All evening, Luna moths linger
near pools of blue moonlight
pouring over iced rocks
of midnight sky.
Open wings dipping into the nectar
of constellation cocktails
—blooming cosmos,
galactic gin fizz—
they swoon, falling over stars,
drunk until morning wakes them.
Comments