Mary MacRae
Without a moon-viewing pavilion
Sunday the 5th of May, 5a.m.
The sun just up, and the moon, nearly full,
Red gold, hangs like a Japanese lantern
Against Black Cottage. Like a stage-set, frost
On the lawn glows in the moonlight, and throws
A white reflected up light onto white
Cherry blossom. Each still petal reveals
Its veins, shadows on fine paper.
Thursday the 18th of July, dusk.
The moon is new now, no brighter than the stars,
But its May light is held, still, suspended,
In the blood-red flesh of the cherries;
Late evening, deep crimson in a glass
With palely shining ratafia cream.
Page(s) 21
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