the night he left me
an unstained moon had
risen over the eastern ridge
simplifying the sleeping house,
plating sorrow to the
patina of freshly polished silver.

no time to mention
the loveliness of the moon

i needed to clean the ashes
out of the kitchen range, wanted
to sweep the balcony clean . instead
i ran to the window to watch
the tail lights dwindling away.

dust-laden, i wanted
to wash my hands.  but he left
and i stayed at the window
where i needed to be,
confused.

now ghost
people live with me
and use my hands to do their work.
the bedroom is where i go
when i cannot bear
the loneliness

and what shall i do now
with the loveliness of the moon?