Pilot Light Moon
The old woman wakes in the full moon night
to the sound of a cat
bird in the lemon tree.
Feet on the floor, glasses
found, outside
into the dim lit hills.
Above, Cassiopeia,
beneath, dry leaves, the scrape of bricks
against bare soles.
Within, a flame flares
as if her feet were a match against the rough.
Past the well
around the pond
into the woods where
under the branches of the ancient maple
where the squirrel sleeps
she lies on a bed of moss
and dreams.
photo courtesy of Willow. Read more poems and stories based on this photo at Magpie Tales.
