One Night, Late Summer

The Harvest Moon presides
But won’t presume
A promise to itself
Despite imploring wood smoke
In spite of homing embers
Rising to swarm  
A Janus face
Waxing luminous as royal jelly
A weather eye on the waning
Bound to come
Willing for the moment
To look the other way
While I haul on this lasso
Your upturned eyes enameled
With amber gleam.