Hospital Moon

O hospital moon, inching your silvery shoon

up from behind that building, also a hospital

each floor festooned like an airport

your pale smudge hardly a harbinger of celestial harbor

offers dim you might think hope, our sick longings we bring to you

all mixed inter and outer standing like deer in the head light of presence

awaiting collision

you take the highroad

still outshining, shrinking and brightening as you make space between city and zenith,

so that here below we bask in the eye

of providence.

Later alone I wake, the bars of some obstruction breaking your beauty into pieces on the floor beyond my bed.  How can I get back into your ward again?

In broadening daylight cycling across the valley you are going the other way, three dimensional and somewhat lumpy above the office towers,

your shadows making you rounder

but less perfect,

a chunk taken out of you, a brain without stem

or nose. O hospital moon, return us to our senses,

give us between this night and day

a hippocampus

worth remembering. 

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3 thoughts on “Hospital Moon

  1. In a note to me you say you’re not a photographer. Now you may say you’re not a writer or a poet. I’m not concerned with what we call ourselves— I enjoy finding how we explore with words and image. “Hospital Moon” is a truly moving piece of (may I say it?) art.

  2. This is beautiful. First time reading it today. And it has one of my all-time favorite words–festoon.
    And then, this: “the bars of some obstruction breaking your beauty into pieces on the floor beyond my bed.”

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