Riddles three

Have you seen the moon tonight?

She is orange, fat, and riding low;

she whispers, and I listen

with careful tongue and seashell ears

and she rolls across the sky

lazy, decadent; gluttonous

for us to hear her secrets

and make our wishes upon her sister stars.

What would we wish for?

For something peeking out from behind

the clouds, a flirtatious wind

making love to our sails;

a dream inspired by paths not taken;

a forgotten attic, dusty boxes filled

with a special kind of regret,

the kind that smolders like a dying

campfire, with bats dancing overhead.

Can you hear the cricket song?

We slake our thirst on their symphony

and try to keep from going mad.

I always try to find the three stars of Orion’s belt

comforted that they have always been there

a sturdy bridge, crumbling bricks

with no troll beneath.

The moon smiles

as though she is keeping a delicious secret

and we will see a little less of her tomorrow.