On this cold December night, 2005
The moon is full one final time,
Rounded out in golden splendor,
Cream-colored like lit smoked glass,
Its reflection on the tranquil ocean surface
A large gilded porcelain platter
From which I am emotionally nourished
And physically strengthened as from a feast.

As the moon waxes and wanes
Always constant in its presence,
I stare at the 5 on the digital clock
Flashing, blinking, pulsing,
Crimson, scarlet, burgundy,
Soon to roll over to 6
Only to reappear in good time.

And feeling a tactile longing
For all my loved ones past and present,
I send out an ardent wish
For moments of faithful memories
As the moon keeps sending its benevolent, constant beams
And bids the old year good night.