Lunar Eclipse of July 14, 2011

By Rebecca L. Morrison

Boot-clouds of lava

dust awake, Neil

Armstrong once reported

no Gabriel, no Michael;

no messenger, no fighter --

only magnificent

desolation. Days after

your father drove to

the family lake house

and disturbed the shore's

sand with a bullet

that travelled temple

to temple, I tried to

disturb the new hush

of our desolation,

twice straight to answering

machine, and slowly I struggled

to remember the color of

your eyes. Nineteen, old friend,

we once were drunken moon-

dwellers, but now I only

dream of a dip with you

in uncharted lunar seas,

water rippling in the wake

of our boot-clouds --

but there's no

moon-water to sate my still,

arid tongue, to remind me that

they're brown or blue, only

ice where I hoped to find it.