the rabbit and the moon
the rabbit rose early that eve, nibbling at the sliver moon.
I am the moon, rabbit said. maybe moon won’t see.
the moon rolls into shadows. playing with the day.
playing with the night. he smiles, the way moons do.
rabbit nibbled at both the dark and the crescent, bright.
I am the moon, she thought. maybe moon won’t hear.
moon pours himself into the sea. closer now.
moon feels shy so he sings. song becomes water,
raining stars into the ebbing sky.
rabbit hears. she knows, moon was listening.
rabbit sees the moon in the sea, looking back.
rabbit feels the grass beneath her feet. then
the grass becomes waves, becomes a song, then
the moon. then her cloak, then her belly full.
now that you’ve climbed into sky, rain becomes
my voice. I am the rabbit, sings the moon.
and here, beneath the empty sky, and then
the dream began. closer now.
neil reid © september 2013
image: Lunar libration with phase Oct 2007, via Wikipedia in the public domain