IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK

Moon Over the Trees at Night

A poem

Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash

The moon floats high
in the sky
like a fresh face from yesteryear,
calling me back through all those
forgotten nights
to that time centuries ago
(it feels)
when we stood fresh-faced & pure
under a canopy of crooked tree limbs
in the naked frozen forest
of reality,
attuned to the night
as only children can be,
staring up in awe at the
brightly glowing sky
with white crunchy snow
underfoot,
watching our breath dissolve
in the cold black air
right before our faces
like a dream.