Jane Rennalls
Mixed media
Response
Ode to a July Moon
By Lisa DeShantz-Cook
Inspiration piece
I love you better in the empty sky, in bones of rivers,
spiny drops of lake spray in the wind,
shards of green-silver where sound could be but
is not, where no one but the dreamers venture and
I’m half here right now, half dreaming
But the me in swoony, churlish love is the me that wanders
off trail at the scent of earthy mushrooms, the me that
dances deeper Into the woods hoping to get lost,
the me whose foot leans harder into the gas pedal
as if I were still young, still racing
This is the me who is waiting to remember her favorite color.
I’m sure I knew it once but, like the sphinx moth whose
shape I’m determined to see, holding my breath still,
eyes trained, at dusk among the wildflowers yet
continues to escape me
I cannot make up my mind anymore, like the
drunken bees that bumble-hover clumsy between the
blooms at high summer, when everything feels like a dream
because It is a dream, or it was, anyway
who can choose just one bloom?
But you draw a line to me now, on the blackened shoreline
windblown and dizzy, your perfect silver, dancing nearly too
bright on the night waves, effervescent, holy, where we
are upended and then put back together
not tidier, but more ourselves
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