(for Kay Duren)

Taking a bag to the can on the street
in deep night, having forgotten earlier,

I step into shine so radiant that
I could be working on a tan out here.

And, marveling at the density of my
shadow on the driveway, I stop,

look up—straight up—to inhale
the year’s brightest full moon,

near perigee, close as it gets to
its planet, a mere 221,938 miles

away as the rocket flies. Though
the past two fulls have also been

super, this is the big whopper,
fitting on your momentous day,

as if Luna herself decided to mark
your 80 turns around the sun,

showing off her brightest
celestial self to this world

she oversees. This one that,
like so many of us,

celebrates your brilliance,
your lasting presence, too.