Pull

The earth rotates I can almost feel it As the moon drifts upwards Between bars of horizontal lines, An ascending questioning note in disbelief In front of a beautiful eastern summer blue With pulled gray and cream clouds drifting below, As an eastern horizon turns pink violet. She’s risen to the second and third wire framing my view as I write How many miles have I moved as I’ve sat and watched, A thousand miles in seconds? It’s peculiar that one is never really still here. Her waxing pale face distorted in surprise continues to ascend Mocking me as I sit Now well above this third line Her timing never fails. And I’m only lazily counting my time As fireflies come out And black birds fly to greet her Then she hides behind a pine bough.