The full moon has rolled west
out of view, its light
reduced to a trickle
through the black frame.
This pale orb hides
behind the marine layer,
that bank of bottomed out
stratus clouds which visits
nightly this west coast.
A woman sleeps beside me.
An ancient dog snores
at the foot of the bed.
In the absence of light
an orange diode glows,
whispers the low setting
on the heating pad,
atop which is curled
a final slumbering form:
The buff tabby,
sole occupant of the valley,
owns the space between
our blanketed mountain forms.
Logan, I love it. Your poem leaves me with a feeling for life’s reality. The light it brings to the reader is not hiding behind any marine air. We clearly see and feel the warm love in your night-time scene. Blessings, -Darrell