Measuring the Moon

At the top of the hill we found our chance,
the golden light erupting over the rim
like a fire-line in strong wind.
We held the tape between us, dabbing
our fingers in the molten edges while
crickets fiddled their raucous song
into the quavering air.

Somewhere, down below, we both knew
the kitchen light was on and people were wondering.
But civilization depends on the love of beauty,
numbers, light. I didn’t need to see your face to know
we would do our part.

The world these days is a death toll, spreading at the edges
like a stain. But the moon still rises over these rivers and fields,
with a lightness unpenetrated. How could I not understand
the insatiable greed of a tyrant, wanting to own that?

The moon sails above these things we do to each other:
these little wars, these little loves of ours.

s warner 2008