Moonlit Trance

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.