The Rising Moon Poem by Marieta Maglas

Above the ocean,
the moon is not wet.
Yet, it is compared to those
soaked stones being
incapable of moving
when they're beaten
by the waves.

This jammed planet rises
above what we imagine
it's a range of vision,
but acquires no more than
a toadyish sense of perspective-
a congested outlook on
our breathing earth and on life
more often than not.

This moon doesn't have algae,
but it has memories of
what we mean by
intelligent artifacts-
stones left on shore
to wait for a kind of wind-up,
while not hoping,
not screaming for help, and
not dreaming any longer.

Only the poets still thirst
for what's beyond the full moon-
the dark side.
They need some imagination
to twist around
everything they cannot see,
but it's quite perceivable.


Poem by Marieta Maglas