This post is the third of the Small Noticings series, started here. 

In New York, I can't see the moon from our windows, and its light is replaced by round, buzzing street lamps. But with thin curtains over open windows at night in this quiet cabin, I notice the brightness of the moon's variations. Right now it is waxing, growing bit by bit. The night before the full moon, we work on our small fire, and the clouds blow thin and fast over the moon, blurring it.

Last night, I reached to pull the shades for the evening and stopped. A wide stripe of pure white flows on the top of the lake, from the moon, so bright it is almost beating, to me. I take one step to the left and the moon's light is a path again to me, a fully unshot cinematic second.

Even the Moon Feels This

A haze of smoke blows
out from the cabin's chimney
not in a spiral, but steaming billows
as off a cup of tea, rising to the eyes
of the full moon tonight---rims soft
and yet a liquid center shines, stung
with sudden warmth of breath.