Moon rises low above the mountains,
blurred moon, you watch it
with your eyes stinging, you can
barely breathe. Wait. The clasp that clamps
itself at your breastbone will loosen.
You may weep.
Or you may stun yourself
by laughing, though your face is wet
and the moon an oblong smear in the night
sky—you may watch yourself as you
laugh with your whole heart
your whole life.
Ann E. Michael is writing coordinator of DeSales University and the author of the poetry collection Water-Rites. She lives in eastern Pennsylvania and blogs at www.annemichael.wordpress.com.