Because it is more silent than you can imagine
and above you the moon is a nickel
glinting from the unseen sun,
surrounded by broken crystals.
With the limbs of the bare trees
web-spread like arteries,
under a sky whose shade
has yet to be named
you will find your mouth agape,
eyes lifted as your knees
sink into the fallow garden,
praying, regardless of belief.
Rosemary Royston. Text first published by Town Creek Poetry (Spring 2013). Reprinted here by permission of the poet. Rosemary's chapbook, Splitting the Soil (2014), is available through Finishing Line Press.
Art credit: Untitled image of an ice halo around the moon, by unknown photographer.