I wanted to give it to you, the real beauty, the bit of sweetness,
the way my breath caught barely when I saw the whole picture.
I love to see it there, the whole moon framed in a pocket
created by my window, lamplight, and the great living room fern,
motionless in bare tree branches, an everyday ornament
surrounded by blue night sky.
With a camera click I managed a small white dot
in a black square, a nothing remotely resembling the gift.
I’m unprepared to capture images in darkness.
This is why I’ve failed to speak clearly,
obscure in verse the haunting hours.
I have no faculty for forming the shape of things past,
a withering.
Another day, you will hear me, because I will
let the music build a craft, and on the sea of things undone
I shall sail, my oars the painting words,
then you will see as I do.