Here, under the trees, there’s no sunlight,
only shade from moonlight which invites shades –
ghosts from Hades, if stories are true.
I have come here to meet one
who can tell me what to expect.
These February evenings, our invisible daytime Moon,
lost in the Sun’s glare, has moved
east of the setting sun, a crescent
briefly seen in the west after sundown.
Earthshine is softly lighting the dark side.
around the world, a common sight shared –
the last quarter Moon and nearby Virgo’s
bright first-magnitude star, Spica – half-illuminated in sunlight,
half in moonshadow, lit side always pointing
eastward, looking, as we do, for sunrise.
Depiction of Virgo, c.1000
I wake up before the sun rises
looking East to the Moon and Venus.
The two brightest celestial bodies of night,
here in the morning, reminds me of
that which is omnipresent but often forgotten.
I play Satie softly not to awaken
her upstairs. I’m not much of a
musician, more a phonometrician, measuring and writing
down sounds as the Moon approaches fullness,
far from Paris, breathing in 3/4 time.