to open my mouth in a reflexive "oh"
hung inches over a Seattle skyline.
Looking east towards the city on a clear October night
from an island in the sound
The sky just shy of pure darkness.
It was the darkest navy you thought was black,
until seen in bright daylight
The moon, it glowed.
It was the sweetest, ripest
cantaloupe you had ever cut into.
Not the pale, chunky fellows
of the breakfast buffet...
But the bright, orange flesh
of a sweet netted melon, nearly overripe.
Juices intoxicating as they drip down your chin.
The water lapped against the rocks
The choppy dark of the Sound envious of the moon.
The tide and wind denying a stillness
upon which the moon might reflect.
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