Looking at the morning moon,

pale now in the southern sky,

moving slowly like me,

while the sun is rising in the east,

bringing dawn and another day,

and even though the trees are still

and it’s quiet here,

no birds at the feeder,

the squirrels have not begun their chatter,

my dog is still asleep,

yet everything is moving,

spinning, ticking, breathing

and somewhere far away

tears are in the corner of sad eyes,

or a smile has come to someone’s lips,

perhaps a laugh, and hate is crawling

like a snake, its angry tongue darting,

and its dark at night where sleep

brings dreams of what could be, yes

everywhere everything is moving

like the morning moon

behind the trees.