at the top of the hill, near the college, last night, <br />was a beautiful yellow-gold moon <br />it was painted in place, with the soft touch of brush-strokes <br />like contrails across the night sky <br /> <br />with the radio off, i crept slowly along, <br />and the moon, a balloon on a string, <br />slid along smoothly beside me until the road dipped <br />and it slipped through my fingers <br /> <br />- <br /> <br />near the old graveyard, i found it again, <br />and turned right just to watch it a while <br />at the coffee shop, i missed my turn, and <br />went on to a glorious view up the road <br /> <br />a left turn, and the moon was back at my side, <br />its soft luminescence surrounding the sky- <br />i drove too slowly and blessed the familiar <br />roads, for my eyes were above me <br /> <br />- <br /> <br />the longest red light in town caught me tightly <br />and held me, enthralled, at its corner, the garish <br />fluorescents of all-night gas stations a poor mockery <br />of the soft bright orb across the road, behind <br /> <br />the old model t's cafe, where one-egg breakfasts <br />and the toast lady used to sleep the night away, <br />waiting for us. 'is this all there is? ' -i asked- <br />'it's almost enough' <br /> <br />- <br /> <br />time reconvened, i took a breath, the light turned green, <br />and i came home, leaving the gentle, ephemeral moon <br />behind me on the hill<br /><br />R.S. Farris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-song-for-toccoa/
