The Moon through the Trees

The eyes of animals shine in the grass,
Skunk silver, possum red. Far out
From the Northwest corner, your house

With its lighted windows looks
Like a ship at sea. You almost
Hear voices singing Nearer My God to Thee

When a green light appears, as dazzling as
The flash that blinds, then fills you
with sight, then goes with a head-on look.

It's the owl's eyes burning down from the barn's cupola,
It's the moon through the trees spreading itself
On the red fox emerging from midnight thickets.

It's the sight of the dead, the mural
Of your past, the teasing glimpse
Of what comes when you are no one.

Copyright © 2002 Robert McDowell All rights reserved
from On Foot, in Flames
The University of Pittsburgh Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission