"Half Moon in a High Wind" by Carl Sandburg

"The Moon -- Together" by Crystal Liu

Money is nothing now, even if I had it,

O mooney moon, yellow half moon,

Up over the green pines and gray elms,

Up in the new blue.

Streel, streel,

White lacey mist sheets of cloud,

Streel in the blowing of the wind,

Streel over the blue-and-moon sky,

Yellow gold half moon. It is light

On the snow; it is dark on the snow,

Streel, O lacey thin sheets, up in the new blue.

Come down, stay there, move on.

I want you, I don't, keep all.

There is no song to your singing.

I am hit deep, you drive far,

O mooney yellow half moon,

Steady, steady; or will you tip over?

Or will the wind and the streeling

thin sheets only pass and move on

And leave you alone and lovely?

I want you, I don't, come down,

Stay there, move on.

Money is nothing now, even if I had it.

"Moon" by Frederick Smock

The day lengthens, 

the old earth tips its hat 

to the moon.

The changeful moon 

goes through many phases, 

even in a single night, 

though it is the same 

moon as ever, we know this. 

We are the changes.

"Moon" by Frederick Smock, from The Bounteous World. © Broadstone Brooks, 2013.

"Driving Toward the Lac Qui Parle River" by Robert Bly

Moonlit Landscape, by Washington Allston, 1819, Boston Museum of Fine Arts

I
I am driving; it is dusk; Minnesota.
The stubble field catches the last growth of sun.
The soybeans are breathing on all sides.
Old men are sitting before their houses on car seats
In the small towns. I am happy,
The moon rising above the turkey sheds.

II
The small world of the car
Plunges through the deep fields of the night,
On the road from Willmar to Milan.
This solitude covered with iron
Moves through the fields of night
Penetrated by the noise of crickets.

III
Nearly to Milan, suddenly a small bridge,
And water kneeling in the moonlight.
In small towns the houses are built right on the ground;
The lamplight falls on all fours on the grass.
When I reach the river, the full moon covers it.
A few people are talking, low, in a boat.

From Silence in the Snowy Fields. © Robert Bly, 1962.

"Moon," by Annie Finch

(I took this photo on Sunday night of an amazing moonlit sky. Then I found this poem by Annie Finch. They seem to be the perfect accompaniment to each other. I don't know much about Annie Finch, but I love this poem, and I love her name. I hope to learn more.)

Then are you the dense everywhere that moves,
the dark matter they haven't yet walked through?

No, I’m not. I’m just the shining sun,
sometimes covered up by the darkness.

But in your beauty—yes, I know you see—
There is no covering, no constant light.