Everything’s in a trance of Moonlight
— Theodore Deppe
The M’s of couples walk the glowing streets,
and in the square, the fountain’s a bouquet
of broken mirrors. I sway slightly, glass pressed
to lips, hearing in my head the tune of a song
whose name I can’t remember. Rustle of wheat
and silk skirt. Shadow of an oak. Faint
stirring of a child in its sleep. I might
begin to float or sing out loud, or my spirit
leave my body and shimmer toward elsewhere.
This is a moon that changes things. The cypress
are alive with it, their branches tremble
in a thrill of dark greenery. Even worms
must feel a stirring where they tunnel, a tremor
like the shiver after the bell’s gong strikes.
Currently an Associate Professor at Georgia State University, Beth Gylys has published two award-winning collections of poetry: Spot in the Dark (Ohio State UP 2004) and Bodies that Hum (1999 Silverfish Review Press), and her work has appeared in many journals and magazines.
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