I drove the streets, looking for the moon, the red moon.
I couldn’t find it at first.
The trees were in the way, the stoplights too bright.
I drove west and west,
found an open space,
where the boulevard turns south.
I watched the moon recede
white, then red, then dust.
It turned too quickly.
I continued to drive the empty streets,
west, and then north.
I turned towards home and saw:
The swept sky
The brushed sky
The quiet, slow sky
The warm light opening the morning.
Look east, my friend.
This happens every day.
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