ECLIPSE
Drenched
Renée Gregorio

last night the moon became luminous button
of shifting light, from fullness to a thin wedge,
like the rind of a lemon cut precisely thin
for the dark cup of espresso it flavors.
We saw this light through magnified eyes 
as we stood side by side on the front porch.
Flanking the moon's light as it waned
were two stars made more perfect
as the moon shed itself of its need
to shine so brightly, and I thought about
how much more palpable light is as it's leaving.
I saw how these others suddenly had a chance
to hold a brighter place in the night sky.
I remembered hearing that one star was really 
the planet Saturn, and the other just a star,
all relating like circles of water revolve
around a stone suddenly thrown into a river,
and the triad—moon, Saturn, star—became an arrow
pointing only into more darkness, more gathering
clouds, but it was not a dark that made me heavy,
but a dark that made me curious to turn toward it,
to face it, knowing if I could be the tip of that arrow
piercing darkness, I'd keep this heart
that never gives up on itself, or anyone else,
for that matter.  I'd learn more about
what it means to shine.

©2010 Renée Gregorio