September 27

The moon is the moon,
regardless. Some things

are certain, say,
great bodies of water,

stark mountains—
I return to them

as I return to you,
a pilgrim.

That is not to say
I believe

in much, only
that some things

are too familiar to deny,
even this moon, half

-eclipsed, playing at
garnet, even you,

now far again,
but still known, always

known, there is
a landscape,

a knowledge,
that cannot be denied—

when I first
saw your face

it was an act
of remembrance,

what else
is there to say?