Moonrise Over Washington—November 11, 2008

For half my life
I’ve walked by this river
late in the afternoon,

evening coming on
like a dream of home

or a mirror
in which failure, already dark,
keeps darkening.

Today, sycamores blaze
behind half-bare oaks, box elders,

and the water’s silver surface
runs orange, then rose,
then twilight blue.

Twigs snap high on the hillside.
I turn to see a stag

turning to see me,
and overhead—more astonishing—
the full moon caught in branches.

It’s five o’clock.
Leaves sway and flare,

gathering on the towpath—
each shape distinct, each color—
November’s moon lifting, now,

above the treetops, the city,
the reclaimable world.

—Jody Bolz