Nocturne

Nocturne of the Poet Who Loved the Moon

I have grown tired of the moon, tired of its look of astonish-
ment, the blue ice of its gaze, its arrivals and departures, of
the way it gathers lovers and loners under its invisible wings,
failing to distinguish between them. I have grown tired of
so much that used to entrance me, tired of watching cloud
shadows pass over sunlit grass, of seeing swans glide back and
forth across the lake, of peering into the dark, hoping to find
an image of a self as yet unborn. Let plainness enter the eye,
plainness like the table on which nothing is set, like a table that
is not yet even a table.

-- Mark Strand, from "Almost Invisible"

I belatedly learned about last week's "Poem in Your Pocket Day," which called for carrying and sharing poetry. Thanks to my blog pal Elizabeth, who posted this wonderful piece of writing back in December.

(Photo: Our front hallway.)