As I computer’d inside, the sneaky eclipse oranged the porcelain
rising moon outside. From my Earthly vantage, imagining I had time,

I finished what held me for the moment, sneakered my feet, then
ambled down a city sidewalk to see what I might see in the honeyed dark.

On the corner of J Street, standing in the shadow of a newly
leafed tree blocking the blast of artificial light on its steely trunk,

I looked east, where, as predicted, a small tangerine hovered
in the sky, not unlike the hummingbirds helicoptering to and from

the upside-down goblets of fuchsias under my kitchen window.
I watched—my mouth O’d in wonder—her translucent orange shawl

languidly peeled away as if by some ancient cosmic lover, saying,
There you are, my dear, flamboyantly full. Bountiful. Let us adore you.

If you’d like to hear me read this poem, you can do so at this link.