There is such an abundance of moonlight.
My cup of wine in hand
I walk out into my radiant garden
And see a tiny white orb in every dewdrop
As numerous as the stars.
Bending to sip my wine
Like cream on raw milk
I find the moon skimming on top.
The dew gathers in Nightshade and Night Phlox,
Evening Primrose and Evening Stock,
Yucca blossoms and Four-O’ Clocks.
Between gulps of Chenin Blanc
I drink from flowers and get drunk on the moon.
I become inebriated, laughing like a lunatic
And speaking poetry in the dark.
And like that woman who drowned in the rain
Standing in the cloudburst, face upturned,
Laughing open-mouthed
Her gullet and lungs filled
Until there was no room for air.
Do you think there is a danger
Of drowning in moonlight?
Or is that just more proof of my lunacy?