How can you watch this huge O ascend
and not drive to find a vantage point,

a spot to frame its levitation between
the towers of a suspension bridge

you first walked as a college student?
How can you resist the urge to drive

onto the campus that shaped you,
that gave you the boy who walked you

onto that bridge more than five hundred
moons ago to watch this same orb,

creamy in its corpulence, climb the night
and kiss you under its fullness?

You can never have too many moons,
never enough nights to marvel over

celestial brilliance, to stand alone
over water-glistened supermoonlight,

bridge cables swooping around you
like promises, attempt a photograph,

and another, knowing you’ll never
do it justice, not come close, but

you’ll never stop trying.