Full Moon in the Suburbs

                                 for Gary Snyder

The full moon announces itself to this night
a specter chiseled by branches and leaves.
And the honeyed air loiters in the dark particles of Day's exhaustion,
remembering the difficult work of re-creation. 

How this suburb longs to be wild with the neighboring woods,
 slatted moonbeams drawn across its foresty face. 

But these shiny lit facades of houses startled by street lamps
give us no place to
obscure ourselves.

Return to masted quarry,
Reach through obstructing leaves,
and feel the lick of this moon's silvery tongue
cool your cheeks
hot from running
home.

Awake

I was caught in a firmament of ideas
but I was already in bed
trying to sleep.
The poem was happening
The work was working
and I, 
an aurora borealis of thoughts and sensations
was thinking how to record all this without 
getting up, making light, locating pen, and lassoing words,
hoping the good snugglers would stay with me all night and deep into 
waking.