bathing in the moon

Bright moon the last few nights

Washing silver-white all the things—

Trees, streets, fears, sorrows, joys,

Gladness dancing in the light-pools

Alongside grief for the lost boy

The moon illuminates the underneath

All appears upside-down, inside-out

Or perhaps all appears truthfully

Or perhaps all appears obliquely

From the side, the gentle edge

The hidden secret underpinnings

That everyone wants (why?) to ignore—

But when the moon is out, on and off,

There are all the mysteries, silver-white

Still untouchable, and yes, I bathe in them.