Noctilucence

After A. R. Ammons

It was so easy to live—blue strands
interweaving between bushes,
curls to capture bold from bland.

Now there are only rocks among us—
chipped foot placements, the soft
crust of the earth spreading apart,

dust pushed up from front to back,
a trail of sandstone and granite, all
blown into a new breathing powder.

The sun slows bends down to rest,
filling the evening with an assortment
of white rays to ease the humdrum.

As Autumn cascades along, our feet
scuffle too, tired and off-balance,
scraping up the last miles in light.

We stop to admire the moon’s new
courage, a mirroring statement, and
watch each other’s eye clamp shut.

Heat swarms the room, and there is,
without denial, a strong memory
of breaths, of steam in the cold.