Ministrations of the Moon

And then it rained no more,
Save in the domes beneath the leaves,
And through the tin of downspouts
And from a stranger’s sleeves. The birds

Had seen it coming — the finch
And morning dove, the ordinary robin —
And the squirrels had gone off
Like slingshot ammunition, hurtling

Between trees. The storm interfered
With the dying of the day. There was dark
Without the benefit of dusk, and then those
Star tattoos and, last, the ministrations

Of the moon. If you were anywhere you were
Watching from your own kitchen window
Through your own green eyes,
For that’s where the likeness is between us:

In the jewel set of our eyes. I learned
Watching from you: Yeast to rise,
Sun to set, rain to rinse,
Forgiveness.