See
the lawn chairs? That is us sitting there,
waiting for a harvest moon
to saunter its way across the sky.
See
how your folding chair touches mine,
how craters and mountains
dimple the moon’s terrain.
See
how we align our ourselves
to pace the old man’s ascent
awash in a saffron glow.
See
how we hold hands during binocular breaks,
listen to frogs and crickets serenade us,
smell his cologne and gardenia in the night air.
See
how transient our lives have become,
each today deep-skyed into yesterday,
like the fleeting sound of a bob-white’s whistle.
See
how we drink the golden amber
of each moment,
create our own constellation.
Previously published in Trouvaille Review, Fall 2025.