This Moon
This full moon, the first since your passing
catches me by surprise. A slit in the curtain
reveals its misty-grey fullness
blurred in the wintry night sky.
A snow squall of white sparrows
murmurs against its edges.
The stars crumble
as the storm rumbles by.
Silver dust turns to ink.
I pen words of love and sorrow,
fill mason jars with water,
leave them to collect the glow.
Outside I dress myself
in snow and moonlight
until clouds sweep the sky
shadowing our sad house
its shutters lowered like eyes
heavy-lidded with grief.
© Susan J. Atkinson