A coin of platinum lit the sky that night,
and didn’t seem to move. The moon hung full
and cast on clouds a blood-tinged silver light,
exerting its extraordinary pull.
It made me send a friend provoking verse.
It snuck behind my back from east to west.
The poem could carry benefit or curse.
The moon disturbed the earth and broke my rest.

A quarter after 4 a.m. we rolled.
The bottom rose abrupt and thudding fell.
I calmed the dog. I flashlight-toured the cold,
and turned again to sleep. The lunar spell
passed quickly then, but still that poem was sent,
and only time will tell us what it meant.