eclipse

the moon's silvery-gray hair

falls in shadows across her face

her pupils waxing and waning

straining

to catch a glimpse of her girl,

her beauty, her sunshine

her pale lips remembering cinnamon warmth

from three hundred years ago

closer, closer, closer

the sun's honey-brown hair

is tinged with yellow, with orange, with joy

her heart intertwining with blooming peonies

and pounding against her ribs

straining

to explode out for her girl,

her beauty, her moonlight

her red lips remembering peppermint coolness

from three hundred years ago

closer, closer, closer

and then

vermont bursts into cheers so loud the sky shakes

and threatens to open

the pitch-black curtain rimmed with light

as if from the bottom of a door

where behind the wood

lays the moon and the sun

tangled together for the first time

in three hundred years

and finally happy.