“Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them anymore, but only Jesus.”
—The Gospel of Mark
SOMETIMES, I WONDER
when the moon seems skillfully slung
to skip across the rushing clouds,
I wonder whose wrist and fingers
give the crescent of light its motion
and if the heart behind the hand knows I’m watching,
wading toward the deep end of the sky,
up to my neck now
and wanting to swim
with the reflection of the sun
along the surface of the lunar song
being sung across the skin of heaven.
the light splashes
and I feel its current all around,
lifting me for a moment so brief
that it seems unreal,
as if it were only a fantasy of my own desperate yearning.
Sometimes, I feel the heart behind the hand
send me skipping, too, across the clouds
in the wake of the singing moon.
And then my wondering turns to wonder.