I leaned out of my bedroom window late last night and took this photo with my phone. I really like the windows of the house opposite appearing to be eyes, and the cloud rising up from the roof as if it was peeling it back.
How could magic not happen under the moonlight?
Be careful what you do when the bright moon shines.
Here's a poem from Blue Moon at the Map Shop, my collection of moon poems.
changes
light headed with sex
alcohol and guilt,
he walks back,
footsteps loud in the sleeping street,
he's thinking of home now,
where everything is the same as before,
he's considering the cold air he will bring
to the second shared bed tonight,
his skin is tingling,
he is reassured,
he is reluctant,
he turns the corner,
his house has gone.
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