The moon is dead –
it was killed tonight
by the sting of Scorpio.
People laughed and even made love
told stories and bad jokes
and sang on the hill.
the dull red outline
Of the moon glow.
that were long lost
In the moon’s silvery light.
David, the astronomer and orgiast,
named every star in the sky
standing on tiptoe and pointing.
Tribal people, not long ago,
feared the world’s end
when moon or sun disappeared,
But our eclipses are entertainments
though the ocean
Is roaring in anger.
Darkness for over an hour-
perhaps the moon
really is dead
Never to be reborn
flaming and full
Tides will never rise again.
Women won’t ovulate regularly.
except by electric bulb.
I will need flashlights
to walk through
the darkened woods.
We will need nuclear power plants
every hundred miles
tolight the nights.
Who ever put
that big rock
in the sky anyway?
Coyotes will never gather and howl again.
Lunatics will be quiet and docile.
Lovers will park under street lamps
And throw dimes into meters for each kiss.
God! P.G.E. stocks are sky high
And my lover had cramps in her ovaries.
If the moon dies night won’t be worth living.
Don’t die moon ! Come back and light my dream.
A little bit of light appearing _
singers and violins
sarcastic jokes and simulated howls.
I want you moon
full, flaming, silvery, reflective,
queen of night- I want to see your phases.
A red ball in a vertical crescent-
meteors flashing around you
saluting your return.
I love you, moon !
light my night paths and
keep chasing the sun around the world.
© Copyright by Allen Cohen.1975 All rights reserved.