For over an hour,
I watched the near-full moon
rise and set and rise and set
and rise and set and rise again.
Around each curve,
another chance to praise the moon
in its rising, another chance
to mark the dark of its loss.
How could I not think
of love then, and how
through all the twists
and bends, love
has seemed to disappear,
then has risen again,
and again, enormous
and shining, then lost.
There is something in us
that longs for meaning,
that wants to know ourselves
as we might know the car,
the canyon, the curves,
the moon and the sky that holds it.
Though I knew I was not coming
any closer to the moon, it felt that way,
and I drove as fast
as the road would allow.
There is something in us
that longs to know what it is to rise
full with another’s light
and share that light with the world.
Every time the moon rose tonight,
I remembered I was driving
toward you.