Let us be true, truly be,

let us be. That was the refrain

I sang under the moon I lost

some months ago.

There it was at last, low above

the trees, the trees black and still,

the birds silent, only a car passing

on the road behind me, not staying.

I know this moment contains worlds,

universes even, possibilities unheard of.

This moment, then the next, and the one

after that; I will count them out carefully.

Thoreau says, “All change is a miracle

to contemplate, a miracle happening

every moment.”

The asters I planted on faith in April

have bloomed so bluely, so proudly,

so briefly. They are sighing now as

they lie down in this October morning.

I am counting now — No! I have

ceased counting — to take this moment

as itself complete, so full as the moon,

which I had lost, now waning behind me.

Barry Casey has published in Spectrum Magazine, Brevity, Mountain Views, Patheos, Faculty Focus, and The Dewdrop. His collection of essays, Wandering, Not Lost: Essays on Faith, Doubt, and Mystery, was published by Wipf and Stock in November 2019. More of his writing can be found at Danteswoods.com. He writes from Burtonsville, Maryland.

Photo by Kym MacKinnon on Unsplash

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