Radiance

A poem by Judith Kerman

Stains the night sky,
tarnishes blackness toward
ultramarine around its
vortex. Sometimes it seems to be a hole, sometimes a
white circle, an
X-ray of a swallowed coin.
Yesterday vanishes into the
zero moment. Once we
anticipated zenith, faithful in darkness
before the moon hauled its pregnant
crescent up the hill, later each night, and grew to this full
diameter, dime, diamond solitaire
embedded in its midnight bezel. Soon enough it will
fall slowly toward the bay again, trailing its
gleaming. The water stretches to its own
horizon, breathes
in its more rapid cycle below the moon's
jeweled movement. Like us, the bay
keeps to its own
life, both slower and
more rapid, but
never out of step. Tonight the moon's an
orifice and eye, a stasis,
peering down at its
quicksilver reflection.

Copyright 2006 by Judith Kerman