What you must know about the moon as we
walk this lake shore at midnight: Though it glows
flawless as pearl from our view, shadowy
claw scars cover its crust, mark how—below
surface—mantle and partial melt protect
solid inner core, much as rib cages
shield our hearts or calcium skull deflects
jabs at frail brain. Its reflection rages
toward us as Luna hurtled toward Nero,
having learned her temple blazed, demanding
his suicide, dubbed Vespasian hero
and then emperor. Your stare’s commanding
as a goddess while you listen. You glide
beside me, glisten, softly speak of tides.
Roger Armbrust
November 28,
2012
