Jane Rennalls and Lisa DeShantz-Cook

Jane Rennalls
Mixed media

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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