warm up: moon, you've moved

moon, you’ve moved

when I finally glimpse you

(and I’ve been trying

all along) it is cloudy

in and out.  I wax

as anxious as sugar

whipped in heat around a bowl

and made blazed until

a candy until

an appearing

and then a disappearing

on a stick

on a few fingers

on a wet 

tongue

becomes as comforting

as a bug

ticking inside the heat

of a lamp

shade, pinging and pausing

like a mind

going and coming

in and out of all the watts

in the bulb,

until they all shrug, until my hand

hovering above the switch

is twitch with ready

is ancient gas

is insisting

yes, you can go

out now

it’s fine

everything,

every bit

of dark

is going

to be

ok