Fall, City

The morning after the first full moon
(I am back);
I looked at it for hours.
Aware
of the city
traffic, power, humans
trying
to fix everything
from the inside. So much
sound, means
nothing, still

it hums
like a rainstorm, a congenital
heart, so painfully
inconsistent. Here

dawn is sleeping.
Here a squirrel stares silent
from the branches of a fallen tree.
Here a black tomcat’s tail flicks up,
down.
He is so cautious.
My eyes never leave his back.

Where are the strong trees;
the ones baring scars year after year,
that never die?
Where is the blessed moon,
the one that finally erupts up over the
horizon like a silken tide, then
slides its belly behind the clouds,
a cheap farewell.
Where is the fast twitch of a
tail; the consistent

heart, the sudden thrust
of exhilaration upon
awakening

here?