The Rising Moon

Above the ocean, the moon is not wet. Yet, it is compared to those soaked stones being incapable of moving when they're beaten by the waves. This jammed planet rises above what we imagine it's a range of vision, but acquires no more than a toadyish sense of perspective- a congested outlook on our breathing earth and on life more often than not. This moon doesn't have algae, but it has memories of what we mean by intelligent artifacts- stones left on shore to wait for a kind of wind-up, while not hoping, not screaming for help, and not dreaming any longer. Only the poets still thirst for what's beyond the full moon- the dark side. They need some imagination to twist around everything they cannot see, but it's quite perceivable. Poem by Marieta Maglas