Will this night not be night if it wears a sun? Another sun that we
dare not look in the eye? This silver-lit emptiness is complicit,
conjuring a deceptive goodness , stealing eyes that would
have scratched the rough scab of unhealed flaws. How many
words have been wasted on the moon, how much love, how
many lovers? Even spilt like mercury from an alchemist’s flask,
she quivers in the lake, the wind a soft moan in the ear of her
bedevilment. It is December, the year is sinking quickly into its
grave. There are things to forget. Things the moon wants me
to remember. That is her prism, the window through which
she becomes beautiful, makes the darkness a burn of want.
I write obituaries in the moonlight. Even a two-inch horizon
presents a linearity I must refuse. Nothing is perfect. A
moment can stumble. A moment can be a waxing moon. A
moment between this year and the next could be longer than
forever. The way, once, a forever love was a waning moment.
THOUGHT PURGE 
Stunning imagery in this, Rajani. I love your ending.
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Thanks so much, Sara.
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Beautiful! The image of the year sinking into her grave is breathtaking. And…. I love how you define a moment.
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Thanks so much, Vivian.
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😊
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Ah well, I am becoming used to writing obituaries myself. We write what is there to be written, I suppose. Striking imagery!
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Thank you, Rosemary.
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What did we really know of anything writ in “silver-lit emptiness”? except that I-in-Thou rang like its bell? Lovely and lively equivocal braces about the moonlit obit: It cannot be linear yet is, it resounds forever but fades. Such bittersweet acceptance at work here.
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Thank you, Brendan. Hard to be distracted from the news these days- so much happening – but this poem found a way through!
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I won’t look at or think of the moon in the same way after reading this. Thank you, Rajani. This is very interesting diversion,
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Thanks so much, glad you enjoyed the poem!
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Writing obituaries by moonlight — somehow I think there is a lot o put to rest as this year passes. And, as for words wasted on the moon, that is an interesting idea. Seems like so often love poems invoke the moon. It is always a strong presence.
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Always a strong presence, yes! I obsesses over it a bit too much, I think 🙂 Thanks, Mary. Let’s hope the next year is better than this one.
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I love best the things to remember and things the moon wants you to forget. Loved this poem!
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Thanks so much, Sherry.
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I’m well acquainted with stumbling moments, although, until I read your poem, I called them mistakes or disasters. But the stumbler can usually right herself and continue the journey, even though there are things to forget, and the forgetting is nearly impossible at times.
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Yes, even though. There is sometimes no other choice!
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The moon sinks, the year sinks & even a forever sinks into a moment. And what a wonderful ‘prism’ is this! Like your words from where Beauty comes.
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Thank you, Sumana.
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“Even spilt like mercury from an alchemist’s flask,
she quivers in the lake, the wind a soft moan in the ear of her
bedevilment.”
I see all words to the moon are not wasted, as she lights the writing of obituaries, and reminds us of love waning as well as growing. Sometimes I think, how dare she? The universe rolls on without caring, but as a poet I assign meaning because I need her to be spiritually significant, I need a relationship with her. I think this is where I truly learn/yearn about unconditional loving, in this unrequited constant relationship. (Thank you so much for your poetry, which always takes me further than you may have intended.)
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Yes, I think the poem, the poet and everything in between – all search for a focal point, something to tether themselves to – and the moon becomes the natural choice. As flawed and as magical as the seeker. Thanks Susan, your support is much, much appreciated. I hope the year ahead brings you much joy and brings us much more of your poetry.
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“the forever love was a waining moment”
a particularly poignant phrase for me today. A powerful poem.
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Thanks so much, TioStib.
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