Harvest moon

A crystal ball suspended
above the park, black, blurred:
as if a god descended
onto this worn-out world.

The branches stretch their fingers,
the flowers crane their necks
towards the orb that shimmers
into the deepest cracks.

Tonight we see the largest
and brightest star that blooms:
this is the moon of harvest,
this is the moon of moons.

Christina Egan © 2015