Moon, draft

November 24, 2007

On the coldest of nights
the moon
will be a huge searchlight,
shining like a bright button,
a bone orange,
before the day
is even done.

On nights like these,
that are just on the edge
of happening, you will be
sitting with your friend –
in the Orange Tree,
when he’ll ask you to see
a haiku, high above the trees.

On nights like these
he’ll take your hand,
and tell you just
to shut your eyes
and walk carefully,
cross the road,
till you feel the curb

and when you open them up
the pale blue lie
will be hanging there –
you’ll watch it together
gawping with pleasure,
like children,
in a private game.

On night’s like these
it’ll follow you home,
with the glinting hole
of a dinner plate
and they’ll be a boy
playing a harmonica
and the light will be spilling

You’ll drive to Derby
on a pointless mission
and tell the guy
you happen to sit with
the darkest thing about yourself.
On night’s like these,

you’ll remember the moment
that it left your lips,
in the fog filled light
of the second day –
moon on the dashboard,
hands interlaced.
On night’s like these,

you’ll lie awake,
in a room without curtains
and bathe in the glow
as it lanterns the windows
and makes you see
how skin and sight
are not the same –

on nights like these.
You’ll wonder how a
dead rock
can float space,
millions of miles, far away
and still be able
to speak to you.


4 Responses to “Moon, draft”

  1. Jak said

    well penned. i like it.

  2. embarrassingfriend said

    If the author of the previous comment were familiar with Lydia’s mode of composition, he might have said ‘well laptopped’, but then, he’s probably not a pedant.

    As for the poem, I like it too. Who wouldn’t?

  3. Hey thanks:) Did this the other week with a band at a gig and it worked out – glad you like it:)

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