Sunday, May 1, 2011
The Moon by Robert Bly
My own red, luscious, tomato-moon...almost ripe this first day of May.
By Robert Bly
After writing poems all day,
I go off to see the moon in the pines.
Far in the woods I sit down against a pine.
The moon has her porches turned to face the light,
But the deep part of her house is in the darkness.
from "Eating the Honey of Words", 1999