Dear Moon,
I've looked for the man with-in my whole life,
that face they said was yours,
the one carved in craters and shadow,
the man who lives in your light.
Some nights I see him clearly
his sorrowful mouth, his patient eyes
watching every human thing unfold
while he stays suspended, unchanging.
Is he lonely up there? Does he mind
being the canvas for our projections,
the myth we needed to make you
more familiar, more like us?
Or maybe he's the truth beyond our words,
that you were always nearby,
always more than rock and moon-dust,
forever holding consciousness,
a witnessing presence
we felt before we had expressions for feeling.
The man in the moon is you
and you are him,
neither separate nor symbol,
only the soul we sensed
in your silver attention,
the way you've watched us
through every dark age and golden era,
through love and war and ordinary Tuesdays,
never turning away.
Tonight, I see him again,
or maybe I see you seeing me,
and I wonder if you've been writing back
all along, in tides and phases,
in the way you make shadows
dance across my bedroom wall,
your letter to us, the ones
who never stopped looking up.
Always yours,
A witness to your witness
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Comments (5)
Brilliantly-crafted & elegant! 🎉💪🏾
Well-wrought, Tim!
This is gorgeous, soft, thoughtful, and full of wonder.
Ah! What a beautiful love letter to the moon! “…only the soul we sensed in your silver attention, the way you've watched us through every dark age and golden era” and the way you give us the image of the moon writing us letters back - I adored walking through these thoughts with you!
Loved that last line, great turn of phrase