“Moonlight in Vermont” – William Matthews

November 10, 2014 § Leave a comment

For best results, have this playing in the background.
It’s the very end of summer
and one night, probably this week, frost will sear,
like dry ice, a few leaves on trees that forayed
a few feet from the huddle of the woods, and there

they’ll be, come morning, waving their red hands
like proud culprits.
One year mosquitoes clung to and trailed from
the walls and ceilings thick as tatty fabric,

and another rain lambasted us derisively
until the sogged lawns steeped like rice
in paddies. But each
year there’s a dusk when the moon, like tonight’s,

has risen early, and every hue and tint of blue
creeps out, like an audience come to music,
to be warmed by the moon’s pale fire. A car
or truck whisks

by on 125.
Somebody’s hurrying home, I suppose.
Each blue is lined with a deeper blue, the way
an old magician’s sleeves might be composed

of handkerchiefs. There’s no illusion here.
It’s beautiful to watch
and that’s reason enough for blue after blue
to blossom, for each decaying swatch

to die into the next. The faster it goes
the less hurry I’m in for home or anywhere.
Like a vast grape the full
moon hangs above an empty Adirondack chair.

By now the moon itself is blue. By this
we mean that we can see in it the full freight
of our unspent love for it, for the blue night,
and for the hour, which is late.

Advertisements

Tagged: ,

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading “Moonlight in Vermont” – William Matthews at Glass Half Fuller.

meta

%d bloggers like this: