Above a winter
prairie landscape,
the moon

startles me.

In the middle
of the sky
in the middle

of Day 1.

(I learn later).

A plane scrapes

the bottom
of our
nearest, dearest

heavenly body.

Jetting northeast,
where’s it

Sault Ste. Marie.

Montreal. Keflavik.
London. Paris.
Amsterdam. Frankfurt.

Black-capped terns

in flight. Draw
a wider
full circle

beyond blue.

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