The moonrise on the cheek of snow.Words that charm me while I sleep.When I get up, what do I know?The meaning's gone. No residue.Instead there's traffic, shoveling, boots.The moonrise on the cheek of snowelopes with me. Or wants to.At ten, I don't indulge it. No,I shush it. And at noon there's nodark force on earth could make me go.The moonrise on the cheek of snowknows what it wants: its way with me.Finally, at dusk, I fall asleepand what wild peace, to feel it grow,this child, this song whose father isThe moonrise on the cheek of snow.
Jeanne Murray Walker teaches at the University of Delaware. Her most recent book is Helping the Morning: New and Selected Poems.
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