The Meaning of Moonlight
Two children, perhaps ten years old
are in the back yard, peering
down a black telescope, staring
at the moon, discovering craters and mountains
that appear like magic from the ancient orb
that sits just over the horizon.
Like miniature scientists,
the two children trade facts
and truth about Diana's lantern:
a precise number of miles away,
the nature of light,
and the makeup of it's rock strewn face,
Even the temperature,
cold on the dark face,
and immeasurably hot here,
where you can see it's bright face.
But you see a different moon than they,
an object beyond science,
a thing seen, far over the ocean
by the one you love,
a connection of hearts separated,
yet linked, where distance
is temporary and fleeting,
and love travels faster
than the speed of light.
Monday night, while visiting my sister in the DC area, my son and my niece were out in their back yard, looking at the moon through a telescope, playing scientists like two little grownups. All the while I was looking at the moon differently, and out of that, came this poem. The picture is of the moon that very night. Perhaps some of you noticed it too, where ever you live.