Moon Flower

If last night's moon wasn't the full moon, I can't imagine what tonight's will be. How does it all work? This is something I could pick up. A hobby. An interest. An interest that's a hobby. A hobby that's interesting. Of interest. Person of interest. Moon. Moon face.

Last night on 25th street, the one with the hill so steep they carved steps into the ground, there is a perfect perch for viewing moons. There was only one, but every moon can be caught from here. Even the sun. Except the sun. You can't fixate on the sun, even when it follows you around. Sky stalker.

And then the clouds made space for one clear glimpse, like a rip in pants, but not to patch. This space was short, momentary and a gift. Before the rain clouds cover it up again, you wonder if it's full. If it's new. If it was just born. What is all means. How it all works. How the moon, if you did not know the moon, could be anything. Moon face, moon flower. Could be anything.

Today is a full moon with blooming petals and symmetry. Petals shed, die off, and fall as the month does. When it becomes un-full. You wonder where the days went. When it becomes half. Quartered. The fingernail they once said.