there is no middle of the night
     only a beginning,
endlessly recurring,
     waked
by the body's vigilance
alert, for that hint of pain
like a woodland deer downwind
from his hunter, wary, agitated

woke last night at two am
walked out into the woods
down the drive to the intersection
all aglow from the blue moon
i can feel you in the muggy air tonight
     in the blue of the corona
and in the weight of the moon

when the new day dawns
we will seek visions
fully splendid with glory
but harder to hold, and
we will recognize each other
perhaps for the first time
for what we really are

but for now in the moonlit
street, standing here alone
all losses reassessed
to become as nothing
     inconsequential
in the weight of the moon
in the soft blue
night