last full moon before winter
gold ball of immense proportion
arrives early for night, early for afternoon
the two chase each other as the coin
they pass between them leaps into sky
uncircumscribed, lackadaisically confident
sky is mute; no animals, birds, insects
rustle of leaves, only wire branches reaching out
to grey sky that glows copper, furnace, fulmination
the hour past noon is long past noon
shadows slant acute
sun shines bright in your eyes
no matter where you go—it’s never overhead
it’s right there—in your face
everything holds its breath
waiting for first flakes to fall
this is the prologue of winter
not the climax of autumn
old master sunset scatters
clouds, streamers, cumulus, nimbus
cirrus, each a steel hull glowing
recording heat fading, receding, tattering
black purple traces of evening, each moment
brighter than the eternal night behind
heavy horizon moment
mountainous moon
final full fulsome
high falutin’ futile
has one last laugh
last gold of autumn
triumphant, lands on the moon
Peterborough Poets 