Double moons above the reservoir, a photograph inside my head
I think about it this morning before I go off to sleep
And rise again, and do not remember it
Until the early morning when it comes round again

Double moons above the trees in a low pressure green
A clear night that couldn’t be photographed once but twice
It was a drive-by shooting, a hit-and-run
I captured a hot ripe moon in stressful motion

The two conversations, young and hanging heavy
Limp sentences not bent by fog, only by motion
Two animals breathing and beating in the stolid window night
They mocked me and yet told me to feel at ease
That duality is unnatural, but okay.