Chalky

The moon rose
Last night
A pale orange
Above fields
Corduroyed
By harvest
The barren
Earth
Then turned under
By plow.

I watched the blemished orb rise
Seemingly smaller
And chalky
As it slowly climbed
For altitude.

Leaning against cold brick
I thought how I’d become
More distant
Chalky
In her memory.

I swallowed a pain pill
Waiting for its warmth
And artificial sense
Of well-being
To settle me
Center me
In the moment I was in
Giving my pain
To the night.

Before long
All the time
I was with her
Grew increasingly remote
Chalky
And I began to see my life
As fields, harvested
Turned by the plow
Waiting for a season
Of planting
When winter is done.